#2 images i took of water and a tree

[tiny-vermin]

an then he fucken exploded !!!!!

#verms stuff #shadowgast #critical role #critical role fanart #proportions are All whack hoever i donot care #queue emoji with shades #also the background is like #2 images i took of water and a tree #and the grass is a recycled drawing #HAHA i love collaging #and the flower is just some thingy from my sketchbook #this is inspired by the lens flare on my digital camera #verms cr

[peterspinkrobe]

Confession - priest!Miguel O’Hara x Reader [part 2]

Word count: 2,270 (oops)

Rating: mature for suggestive content. Mentions of masturbation. You have a dirty mind… tsk tsk. Religious content. Mentions of parental death (sorry for not tagging last time).

A/N: Thank you for your feral support in reading part 1! The art above is again by @Ejpuki on twt. They drew this moment from part one and JUST LOOK AT IT! They also did a pre-reading which I greatly appreciated. Go support them over there <3 I only tagged the people who explicitly stated bc I don’t want to overstep. Also, I guess I should watch Fleabag? Enjoy! part three is cookin’ in my noggin’

// Psalms 32:3-4

When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy on me;

Rumbling sounds drone from the engine in a constant hum as the bus wheels roll down the asphalt, occasionally shuffling the passengers inside. Yourself included.

The wheels in your mind are conjuring images of too much skin, friction, and want. The mental pictures… different positions and other things that you’ve only read about - all featuring the same tall deacon from your small church.

You curse yourself for both your overactive imagination and forgetfulness for having left your headphones at home. Some loud music would drown out the whir of the bus and push out the flashes of lewdness that plagued you.

Reverend O’Hara, you learned that’s what transitional deacons are usually called after inquiring about the proper title on Google the second you got home from that communion, occupied the majority of your mind. He took up residence in your thoughts without even asking permission and you didn’t know the proper way to absolve your sanity of him. It had only been two weeks since you’d met him, two Sunday services, but you were hooked. This trip into the city was supposed to get you out of the house and help clear your mind of its recent inhabitant.

The methods you were currently using were certainly of no help. Nearly every night, for the past two weeks, you’d given into temptation. Allowing the streaking images of what you could only envision his toned body looked like to remain longer in your mind’s eye. His thumb on your lip, the quick swipe across - became more inquisitive of the inside of your mouth in your imagination. You pressed into yourself and thought of those long, thick fingers. You carried yourself away on highs with only his hands in mind. You yearned to baptize him in your waters.

You buried fingernails into your palms to ground yourself as the scenery outside the bus began the change drastically, pulling you out of your daydream.

Your hometown along the Catskill Mountains was enveloped by the natural world - tucked into valleys of the vast countryside. In the three weeks you’d been back home, you had already gotten used to surrounding greenery. You’d forgotten the toll that city expansion was having on the rows of vegetable and orchard farms in the surrounding areas.

Your gaze out the window watched tree lines and grassy hills give way to glimmers of futuristic architecture as the bus entered Nueva York. The rhythm of wheels on tarmac became a backdrop to the din of honking horns, shouting pedestrians, and blaring sirens. You had only recently left a city not too different from this one, but the drastic change in landscape from the mountains made your head spin. The inertia of the bus braking and accelerating over and over on the intersecting streets only added to the motion sickness. You recognize the next stop as the usual one you and your mother used when coming into the city. You quickly get off the bus, blessing the steady ground underneath as your boots hit the pavement.

Towering structures of carbon fiber and glass dominated the skyline, some illuminated by bright neon light displays, others blending into the afternoon sunshine. Advertisements for fast foods, fast money, and fast cars flickered on screens everywhere. You look to where the bus carried you from and, in contrast, the countryside stretched out, calling you back. Despite the slight familiarity in the maze of metal, the sudden change in surroundings made you slightly anxious.

The steady stream of citizens didn’t help your nerves either. You take a moment to get yourself together before following the foot traffic flow up a familiar street.

Your eyes recognize a food spot from a bygone era and you can’t help but smile. You picked up the pace as you headed to the establishment your family used to frequent. Timeless Treats is still here?! You pull on the long handled door and a wave of music, chatter, and sugar hit you at once. Much more pleasant than the waves of anxiety from moments before.

Entering the quaint eatery, you’re transported into a cozy atmosphere reminiscent of an old fashioned diner. A cheerful man at the front waves you in and shouts for you to ‘sit where ya want!’.

You recognized the vintage decor: rusted signs with cartoon mascots and ads for ice cream floats that cost only $2. Imagine! You select one of the smaller retro tables with two stools and hear a jukebox play a song you don’t recognize but tap your foot along to.

There was more to this diner than what it seems at first glance. A few more glances noticed the subtle touches where the diner had embraced the future where it mattered, with high-tech kitchen appliances that helped the staff immensely. A holographic menu pops up across the portion of the table you're sitting at and you slide your finger along the options.

This bakery specialized in delicious treats with a futuristic flare, with many favorites being popular since the establishment opened generations ago. Your eyes fell onto the pastry menu and your curiosity piqued as you ordered the ‘Time Traveler’s Torta.’

All the hustle of the city had occupied your mind until you were sitting alone at the table. Your eyes scanned the other occupants and you wondered what they were all talking about with their sugary sweets. It made you think of him again.

Dammit. A whole ten minutes without thinking of Reverend O’Hara, that’s a record! You couldn’t help the images of Miguel that fluttered now. Only this time you pictured him sitting at the table with you. The two of you share a dessert and you smile at the thought. You visualize his thumb coming to your face to wipe whipped cream from your lips only to plop the finger into his own mouth. That moment as mass replayed in your mind with differing flavors of spice on repeat.

The torta arrives and you gawk at the presentation of the treat. A classic cake with layers of light vanilla sponge, intricately placed swirls of sweet cream cheese frosting, and decadent chocolate sauce. This sweet was the perfect balance of timeless and futuristic as it sat on an oblong, ornate plate.

You savored the flavors as you ate and continued to imagine a date with the deacon. You ask yourself if deacons can even date and the thought pulls you out of your delusions for a moment. Get it together…

As you scooped the last bits of the pastry into your mouth, you pondered your dilemma. Mom always said that confession cleared a clouded consciousness, but there was no way you’d divulge this information to her. Her hypothetical reaction to your crush on a clergy member makes you shiver.

An idea comes to mind that makes you think to yourself that you’ve really gone mad.

The madness pushes you from your seat after paying for the dessert. There’s a slim chance what you’re looking for is actually there considering the cities expansions. That doubt doesn’t stop you from following a semi-recognizable path down the busy streets.

Every tall figure you pass makes you do a double take. The idea of the deacon brushing alongside you making you smile. You turn a corner as your imagination creates sweet scenarios with Reverend O’Hara and stop in your tracks. You cause people behind you to push into your back and spit harsh murmurs at you.

It was still there.

You were surprised for good reason. You were headed towards a relic of past times, nestled between buildings of glass and metal. There was some scaffolding supporting it as the building you headed towards was centuries old. Other than that - the structure you now stood and stared at jutted towards the sky in the old brick and mortar style you were used to seeing in your hometown.

But the Cathedral of Nueva York wasn’t like the humble church in your hometown. The ornate bell tower and large cross atop the chapel in front of you proved that. The only thing to change about the building was the name as the state itself saw many changes a few decades ago - including the name of the actual city.

You find yourself reminiscing on the few times you’d been to the church as you walked inside. Your family used to attend the fancy Easter services and Christmas plays. Those trips stopped after your father passed, and your mother rarely came to the city at all anymore. You remember seeing pictures of them on their wedding day at this very church. Priesthood is a tight knit group and Father Steen knew the head priest, who extended their church for their wedding services.

Given it was a weekday afternoon, there weren’t many souls inside. Despite the numerous options for seating, you sat in your usual middle pew, aisle seat.

You eyed the part of the church that had brought you here in the first place. The confession booth. Its cherrywood exterior made you think of those eyes that bore into yours that day of communion. You shake your head but the visual remains.

The church in your hometown didn’t have a confessional booth. Even if they did - why the hell would you confess there? To the subject of your lustful desires? So many questions and doubts enter your mind.

Could you really do this? Confess to a priest that you pined over a man in his chaste brotherhood? Think of the judgment!

Another thought occurs to you: their whole shtick was that only one entity could do the judging. And it was confidential. If you received some good ol’ fashioned Catholic scolding and Hail Mary’s, maybe that would be enough to get you back to your senses. Reverend O’Hara is a man devoted to God and cannot be hindered by the whims of a degenerate like yourself.

Emboldened by the potential to relieve yourself of your corrupt thoughts, you stand and approach the far right front of the church. The confessional is smaller than it looked from how you remember as a child and teen but it doesn’t stop you from nearly yanking the door open. You don’t even knock.

Thankfully no one is on the confessing side as you burst into the tiny box. The confined space became even smaller as you closed the door behind you quickly. Your mind races towards impure thoughts of the deacon pressed against you in the tight booth space. His height would force him to bend slightly over you and the visual almost knocks you onto the bench which would probably be right at crotch level…

You remember the times you’d done this before and cry out the usual, “Forgive me, for I have sinned and it has been many years since my last confession…”. Who were you even asking for forgiveness? You think for a moment about the last time you were in this booth. You felt so guilty about stealing from the general store all those years back. This was a different kind of confession. This would hopefully absolve yourself of the sinful attraction to the forbidden.

You start light, fumbling over the words, “I’ve gotten drunk and high, uh, a good bit while in college. I lied to my mother and got into major trouble as a result. I’ve been selfish and lazy.”

The anonymity and the release of it all lit a fire under you and you kept going.

“While I’m in this confession booth, and I know it is a sacred and holy place”, you sigh and hear shuffling on the opposite side of the wall, the priest waiting patiently on the other side. “I’ve been struggling with my faith and don’t believe in god…”

You hear the clergyman start to interject but the voice that comes out of you has a fierce tone.

“I’m not done.” Now it was the priest’s turn to sigh and you see movement through the small slits in the partition, but hear nothing else. You continue. The most scandalous part to admit had yet to be said.

“Father, I’ve been lustful over the deacon at my church.” There’s silence on the other end and before embarrassment can take over you continue, “I’m constantly thinking of him and having impure thoughts that drive me to-“ oh god, here it is

“Touch myself. Daily. With this deacon on my mind.” You can’t stop the heat from painting your cheeks a deep red.

“I feel guilty because he isn’t for me to think that way about. From just the two times I’ve seen him, I know he is a good man who does good things. He’s on a path towards righteousness. He’s worthy.” To your shock, you feel tears form and they begin to fall.

“I’m a sinful nonbeliever. Definitely not someone he could be with, unworthy of devotion of any kind. And I’m not good.” Your breathing becomes shaky as the tears fall harder. Despite the fact that you feel your words are the truth, you can’t help but imagine him there now. Comforting you as you cry.

Now that you’ve finished confession, you expect to hear an outburst of disapproval or at least ‘50 Hail Mary’s’ to absolve you of your confessed transgressions.

But that’s not what you heard next.

You hear your name. You hear your name in that sweet music that’s been ringing in your ears the last week or so. This time the musical tone is cautious. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief as your eyes glue to the wall where the music came from.

To confirm your suspicions, you grab the knob on the partition and yank it back.

Through the small window you see a familiar pair of eyes analyzing your face, heavy with worry.

Reverend O’Hara had just taken your confession…

I pray you liked this, dear reader.

Tagged ppl - @friendlynbhdzero @ceoofghosts it won’t let me tag you @hoelychildofgod

#miguel o'hara #fanfic #miguel x reader #priest!miguel #priest au #au fic #across the spiderverse #miguel x you

[kalki-tarot]

Channeled love messages 💌໒꒱ ‧₊˚

🤍 Pick a pile | masterlist 🤍

Disclaimer — The images I use to select a pile are from Pinterest, I hope the readings will resonate with you. I'm not responsible for any decisions you make in your life based on my readings. I'm just a beginner and these readings are just for fun and purely based on intuition and tarot and channeled messages.

Pile 1

My desires and prayers were always very less. But god gave me you without asking for you. You entered my life by God's grace. I've got everything without asking. Kind, god has been very kind to me.

I want to take your hands into mine and look in your deep eyes to know what is it that you desire, so that I can fulfill everything you wish.

Just a while ago, I was incomplete. Now that you're here, I'm complete. I can only sleep with you near me. I can only sleep after looking into your eyes.

Nowadays i feel like, you are my only worship, i only have faith in you. And no one else. I don't know, god is very kind to me.

What kind of punishment is this? Why are you in my mind all the time? My nights are sleepless, my heart is racing. What should I do? What should I do about this connection of ours? Yours and mine relation is very old, beyond life and death, beyond births and rebirths.

Now these prayers don't work too. You took away my peace of mind. Whenever I breathe, i feel you. Whenever I close my eyes, I see you. I feel very loving towards you.

Pile 2

Whenever I came near you, I felt peace. The existence of mine, which I've long forgotten, was reminded by this silly heart of mine. Whenever there was a season of sadness, I remembered you. Oh! My heart. I should control it. Whenever my heart weeps due to loneliness, I remember you. My heart doesn't stop from loving you. I can't stop falling for you. I can't stop thinking about you.

I don't know why is this happening. I should stop here, right? I should not cross my boundaries. Right?

Everyday I pass by your house or place in the hope that someday you'll see me. We'd meet and see each other. (Not a stalker vibe, but a hopeless yet hopeful energy).

The whole house lights up when there's a news of your return. The whole house smells of you. Your sweet fragrance enriches the heart of mine. You make my evenings beautiful then my mornings too. I've been thinking about you all night. My heart is filled with your fragrance.

Wherever I go, I see you. I find you in the green, swaying leaves of trees. And even in the flowing water of the river. How can I stay without you? Please stay with me. Please be near me.

Pile 3

This is the truth, The truth love has taught me. My love, you showed me how the world really is. You showed me a place where the storm never ends, you showed me a world where the night never ends.

You took me to the realm(kingdom) of love, With you by my side,l left this world behind.

Every moment l was filled with fear. Every step l took made me more afraid. My love, you turned my day into night. My love, why did you do this to me?

Maybe this was written in my destiny, either I get this world or not. You were on the other side and I was on the other one. There had to be a beginning. Being yours is magical.

Again meeting somewhere else is magical. Time was passing by, we both were sitting near each other. There were many people around us, but only we met eachother. And we've both changed alot since that day we met. There was something unique or special bond between us. That's why we met. Your and my existence is magical. Our meeting is magical.

Just look at my simplicity (?) You made a promise and I believed it. In the state of intoxication, I called you God. Whatever said, was rightly said. Look at the affection and love of mine towards you. The way I respect, love, admire you with plain simplicity. The state in which I'm now is a gift from you to me. I ruined myself in your affection and love. It was a story of a night only, but I waited for you life long.

There were problems in love already, and I created one more. As I'm complaining about this injustice, your eyes are becoming teary. You became sad just by this much? Why are you upset at my condition? Does your heart still love me? Why did you turn your face away? Tell me if you still love me.

Pile 4

After meeting you, I found out what love actually is. I forgot about everything. I don't even remember how the day passes and night comes. In just one meeting, in your company, my colors changed. What did you do to me?

Now I'm just drowning in the heavenly depths of my heart. The emptiness in my heart resides no more, love and happiness bloomed in my heart. After meeting you, I found out what passion is.

I forgot what peace is as I'm in love. My heart races and the fire in my heart keeps growing. I wanto to write letters to you. Be my lovely penpal. We'd write each other letters and talk about our day.

We met in the garden do you remember me? It was love at first sight. I'm the tall one who wears glasses and has a cute smile and silly hair. (This person has a prominent and big smile)

You opened the doors of my heart, the love and emotions are flooding inside my heart. I'd love to comb your hair darling. My love is as deep as the ocean. We'd sit by the firewood and talk for hours. You'd be in my arms. And I'd just adoring the way you speak and smilem

I get tarot readings about you. They say we're already destined to be each other's lifetime partners. Aren't we? My love. Can i have a cute lil kiss?

I wanna hug you. You feel very warm, comforting and home-like. I love being with you. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. Just one condition, our love will never fade away for eachother.

Comment your feedback!

Please ignore grammatical errors, english is not my first language.

#tarot reading #tarot blog #tarot cards #tarot #tarot and astrology #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot asks #tarot community #tarotblr #tarot pac #tarot spread #tarot pick a pile #tarot pick a card #divine counterpart #the divine masculine #divination #divine feminine #soulmates #channeled message #channeled reading #pick a picture #future spouse pac #psychic readings #pac #kalki tarot

[happypopcornprincess]

Tangled Fates

Part 2

A Phaya x Tharn fic about their past life as Sapuna and Wansarut.

GIF by @25shadesoffebruary || Original Post by creator is here

a/n - As a desi, this series has captured my heart with the mythology and storytelling! So I wrote this fic as I believe this backstory was one of the best in BL! This happens right after Sapuna is saved by Wansarut and left on the riverside. All of this is my imagination this is not from the book as i haven't read it yet. A lot of this is inspired from indian and thai mythological stories that my grandparents would tell me (shakuntala, nala-damyanti, radha-krishna, etc)Some terms might be difficult to understand so I have underlined them and provided a guide at the end for them.

The Sign series spoilers ahead!

---/---/---

Leaning back on the tree bark under the night sky, Sapuna winced as he tried to calm down. He took shallow breaths while pain coursed through his body. Within a single day, he had been bitten by Prince Chalothorn, thrown from the skies, almost died from Naga venom, and saved by a Nagini.

He was experiencing the after effects of detoxification. His eyesight was weakened, he couldn’t see the infinite like he used to. Is this what human vision is like? How do they manage to live like this?

He closed his eyes in frustration, trying to get some rest so he could gain strength to go back to the battlefield. He was worried that his brothers and sisters were searching for him. But the image of Prince Chalothorn flying towards his army in his serpent form worried him more. He wasn’t even in Garuda Lok. Everywhere he looked he found huge trees and dense forests. The shallow river on whose bank he sat was clear and cold, he craved for the warmth that was native to his kingdom.

This was Naga Lok, or somewhere near it. Nagas were territorial. They would never wander far from their home.

The Nagini earlier was proof of it.

“You will not be safe here.” Her eyebrows scrunched, she gazed at him with a blend of curiosity and caution.

“And why should I believe you?” Garuda retaliated with anger, looking at her legs that were still in the water, her territory, ready to run in case he attacked.

“I extracted all the venom but I can’t help with the after effects. You should return to your kingdom and let the vaidyas heal you.” She pleaded, looking around. “You will be killed if you stay here.”

The Lady turned away from him to face the water, and he flinched in habit when she turned into a serpent and dived into the water.

Did she go away to warn him? Will she be back? Why did she help him?

He could now hear the rumble in his stomach as if it were the roar of a lion. He remembered the lavish banquet he had shared with his clan before the war. In spite of his best efforts, Sapuna couldn't help but think about the delicacies he had been served just a day earlier.

Another sound echoed through the forest at the moment, the simmering sound of bangles. Sapuna sat up abruptly, on alert. He looked around but saw no one.

Was the Nagini back to finish me off?

Something brushed against his hand. Without his divine vision it took him a while to see what was in front of him in the moonlight.

It was a lotus leaf filled with berries, fruits, and edible flowers from the wild. His hunger only grew as he smelled the freshly picked mangoes, and throwing all caution to the wind, he dived in. Halfway through, his eyes caught a movement in the water.

He lifted his head to see a blur of green and gold; the same as the Nagini's clothes.

---/---/---

The sound of Wansarut’s bangles echoed through the plains as she picked the fruit. She chose the mangoes carefully for the injured Garuda. She saw how he ate the mangoes happily yesterday, they seemed to be of his liking. What do Garudas eat anyway? She has heard about them eating serpents since she was young. It sent a shiver down her spine. She will simply leave the food like she did yesterday and won’t talk to him. The quicker his health improves, the sooner he will leave.

She gained her composure, and took off her anklets and bangles and kept them by the riverside. She almost got caught yesterday. She saw a fawn and its mother drinking water by her side. Smiling, she said in their tongue, "Keep them safe for me now, will you?” The fawn nodded, standing guard over her jewels with its tiny form.

She got into the water, smiling back at the fawn. Spending time with wild animals in this forest has always been her joy. This place was the divide between Naga Lok and the human world, a place she accidentally stumbled upon while wandering in the woods. It felt like a hidden haven, known only to her; a sanctuary where she felt safe.

She surfaced by the bank where she had left the Garuda, quietly approaching the tree where he had fallen. There, she delicately placed the lotus leaf, ready to run away the second she placed it on the ground.

"Why are you here?"

Wansarut screamed as the heavy voice echoed behind her, causing the food to fly from her hands and land on the ground. Startled, she turned to find the Garuda staring at her with an unpleasant expression. Although color had returned to his skin, and he no longer appeared pale, his armor was still stained with blood. Other than that, he seemed to be in good health.

“Do you often save your enemies and treat them with mangoes?" Sapuna inquired, a strange sensation in his chest as he observed her green attire and flowing hair.

---/---/---

"Do you make a habit of lurking in the shadows to frighten others?" the Nagini screamed once more, eyeing the scattered food on the ground.

His gaze remained steady as she gathered the fallen fruits, placing them on a lotus leaf and gently allowing the stream to cleanse the mud. Garuda found himself unable to look away, his attention fixed on her delicate wrists and the fluidity of her hands in the water, reminiscent of the mudras of Kohn.

Sapuna snapped back to reality. "Why are you here again?" he asked, approaching her as she handed him the food.

"Because I want you gone," she declared, scrutinizing him from head to toe.

"Is this a farewell lunch, then?" he inquired, taking a seat under the tree where he had fallen. Diving into the mangoes, he saw the Nagini looking at him, puzzled.

"You need to regain your strength to fly. Mangoes help," she explained, turning to leave. "I hope you leave this place by tomorrow."

Sapuna quickly swallowed his food and shouted, "Wait." She halted, looking back at him, one foot in the water and the other on the stones near the bank.

"Thank you. The Garudas will never forget your kindness and hospitality," he expressed.

The Nagini locked eyes with him. "I hope you don't forget to repay me." Sapuna recalled her asking for this war to end, for peace among her kind and his.

“I will do what I can," Sapuna replied.

The Nagini nods, stepping into the water to go away when the Garuda shouts again, “What is your name?”

She pauses yet again, but doesn’t turn.

"Wansarut." After saying so, she shifts into her Nagini form and dives into the water.

“Wansarut.” Sapuna smiles, whispering her name as he looked at the half-eaten food with a smile on his face.

---/---/---

Sleep didn’t come easy for Wansarut that night. The image of the Garuda's face lingered in her thoughts.

There was an unusual aura about him; something she had never witnessed before. His presence seemed to glow, and his features were perfectly sculpted. In his human form, he could easily be mistaken for a heavenly demigod. Truly divine.

She thought about the possibilities if he was a Naga like her. She could have asked him for courtship. They could have had the blessings from the elders and…

Wansarut sat up, shaking her head to dispel the fantasy.

He was a Garuda, her enemy. She could be in grave danger if discovered that she helped a Garuda. She didn’t even know his name and she wanted to do what? Ask him to court her? Love her?

Attempting to push these thoughts aside, she tried to sleep, resisting the image of him standing by the stream where he fell, waiting for her.

But she made a firm decision - she wouldn't go back. It wasn't just for her safety but for his as well.

---/---/---

More to come soon...

---/---/---

Guide

Sapuna - Phaya's name in past life as a Garuda

Wansarut - Tharn's name in past life as a Nagini

Naga - A creature from Hindu and Thai mythology who has magical powers and can shapeshift into a Serpant

Nagini - Females of Naga clan.

Garuda Lok - The realm of Lord Garuda

Naga Lok - Realm of the Nagas

Vaidyas - healers

Smiling, she said in their tongue - Naginis have magical abilities to talk in any language (be it human or animals)

Mudras of Khon - Khon is a classical dance in thailand and mudras are different types of hand movements in classical dances like odissi, khon, bharatnatyam, manipuri etc.

#the sign the series #fic #the sign bl #bl drama #bl series #thai bl #thai drama #phaya x tharn #phayatharn #au fanfiction #thai series #asianlgbtqdramas #bl fanfic #happypopcornprincess writes #forbidden romance

[bestiarium]

The Ndamathia [Kenyan mythology; African mythology]

The Kikuyu are a somewhat lesser-known ethnic group located mainly in central Kenya. These people have (or had, I am uncertain whether this religion is still being practised) a religious ceremony that was held every few decades and was connected to a creature called the Ndamathia, a creature associated with rainbows. It was the Ndamathia which made rainbows appear in the sky.

This being was a giant aquatic snake-like reptile of incredible length (said to be as long as the rainbows it created). At the end of its enormous tail grew magical hairs that had potent medical properties.

A complicated procedure was required to harvest these hairs, however. First, the creature had to leave the deep rivers in which it lives. This was done by summoning it with a special ceremonial horn, and when the Ndamathia was on land, it was distracted by a beautiful girl. The monster was dangerous, however, and had to be drugged with powerful medicine, which was administered by splashing it on the ground before the girl (which was traditionally done by the same young girl). The reptilian creature would then proceed to lick up the water containing the drug.

In addition, the girl was covered in castor oil (which is made from beans of the castor plant) to make her slippery. The idea was that if the monster tried to grab the girl, she would be too slippery to hold and she would escape from its maw.

The Ndamathia then followed the maiden away from the water, but as it was an incredibly long creature, it took multiple hours of walking before its tail finally left the water. A group of warriors was waiting patiently for this moment and jumped at the tail as soon as it was on land.

Each warrior plucked as many hairs as possible. Even though the Ndamathia was under the influence of medicine, plucking its tail hairs caused it great pain and the creature would become furious. It immediately returned to the water at great speed, so the warriors had to hide after plucking the hairs. When the giant creature arrived, it would find nobody and decided to go back to the depths from which it came.

As the story goes, the girl who acted as bait to lure the creature away from the water would have an important position in Kikuyu society when the ceremony was over, as she was regarded as a heroine. The priests would then slaughter an ewe, a bull and a male goat. They would then proceed to cut the skins of the ewe and the goat into ribbons and dip them in a liquid consisting of the blood mixed with the stomach contents of the slaughtered animals. The hairs of the Ndamathia were tied to these ribbons to make bracelets, which were to be worn by the elders on the ankle and wrist. When this was all done, a giant celebration would be held.

When Christianity established a foothold in the region, the missionaries tried to convince the indigenous people that the Ndamathia was actually their version of the Christian devil, and the creature was villainised. This made an impact on the indigenous folktales that is still visible today: the Kikuyu’s translation of the Bible translates ‘devil’ as ‘Ndamathia’.

Sources: Hazel, R., 2019, Snakes, People and Spirits, Volume 1: Traditional Eastern Africa in its Broader Context, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 567 pp. Kenyatta, J., 1978, Facing Mount Kenya: the traditional life of the Gikuyu, African Books Collective, 260 pp. Karangi, M. M., 2013, The creation of Gikuyu image and identity, in: Revisiting the roots of an Africna shrine: the sacred Mugumo tree: an investigation of the religion and politics of the Gikuyu people in Kenya, p.24 ch.2., Karangi, M.M. (editor), Lambert. Karanja, J., 2009, The Missionary Movement in Colonial Kenya: the Foundation of Africa Inland Church, Cuvillier Verlag, 227 pp. (image source: Steven Belledin. The image is card artwork for Magic: the Gathering and depicts an unrelated seamonster, but I chose it because it fits with the description and I rather like the illustration).

#Kenyan mythology #African mythology #aquatic creatures #monsters #mythical creatures #mythology #bestiary

[amoristt]

a/n: yaaay back with part 2 hehehe. im glad you guys r enjoying it so far! i have big plans for this series

- as always comments/reblogs are appreciated! - want to support me? heres my kofi!

The Accused | Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader, Pt 2

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The hours that followed Ghost leaving you to your own were brutal. It took a few long moments to collect yourself, all tears and trembling hands, but eventually, your legs found the strength to haul your body up to your feet. Your mind replays the last couple minutes on loop tauntingly.

If Ghost hadn't caught you in time, you'd be nothing but a broken egg on the pavement below. Your brain tried to think about what it would have felt like if you had plummeted without haste, but your body reminded you angrily how it felt to hit the wall on your way down. Surely, deep bruises of purple and blue would climb like vines up the side of your frame. Your body would make sure to ache, to remind you of the damage you'd inflicted onto it.

Damaged, but alive.

It feels odd being alive, now. You really had made your choice, fully accepted the gravity of your life cut short. Perhaps it was cowardly. But, ultimately, you knew that it would have been the better outcome between death and eternal imprisonment.

Still, guilt eats away at you. The image of Ghost's eyes through his mask haunts you- that primal fear in those beautiful eyes engraved in the back of your brain. If he hadn't been as fast- if he'd hesitated for even a second, you'd have slipped right through his fingers. You'd have dropped all the way down to the unforgiving concrete and ceased to be right in front of him. It hurts you- the thought of him grieving you like that. Surely he would have hated you for it.

When night came (rather quickly), you took your chance to escape. Wherever point 'A' was, it wasn't so nearby you couldn't scurry down those five flights of stairs and dart into the darkness. You ran from bush to bush, building to building, and even through a knee-deep marsh. You were grateful that this October was warm, but you would be lying to say you appreciated the bugs. Mosquitos ate away at your skin despite your efforts to battle them away.

You'd only been a few miles away from base, so it wasn't long before you were skirting along the trees, staring at the mile-high electric fences surrounding the fort you'd become so familiar with. The base you and Ghost had been staying at was a nice one- with all the fixings and even single-person 'homes'. They were small, one-bedroom trailer-looking flats with all the basic necessities, but compared to the places you'd slept before they may have well as been your own little personal heaven. Warm water and an AC unit-they'd spoiled you and your fellow soldiers. You remember on your first night, cuddled up under the blankets on your very own bed, praying they'd keep you stationed here for the rest of your military days.

But, now, here you were, creeping along the greenery, feeling more foe than friend. From outside, you could see military vehicles parking for the night and soldiers standing guard. Sneaking up on your own base, your own friends, you really did feel like a spy. You linger outside, wondering what to do.

Then it hits you.

And you know exactly where to go.

You disappear back into the trees. It's barely another mile out, but with just the moon overheard to guide you, you struggle to find your way. You pass by trees and boulders of every size, before you enter a small clearing, and tucked all the way to the side is exactly what you were looking for. A dingy half-finished shed engulfed by the canopy of trees and shadows.

And god, there he is, standing there and waiting for you.

In this light, Ghost really does look like he could be a monster. His mask nearly glows. Half covered by murky shadows, dotted by the glowing streaks of the moon passing through the leaves overhead, he stands and waits for you. Like he knew you were coming.

And he was right. Because here you were.

You snap a twig on accident and his body visibly tenses as he searches for the source, but when his eyes find your figure in the darkness it only takes a second for him to realize it's you.

"Been a while since I've been here," you start. He moves to the side as you pass him. The door opens with a dull creak.

"I'm glad we both had the same idea." Ghost grunts.

"You're telling me. I had to ditch my phone and everything, so if you weren't here I'd have no way of contacting you. And y'know what, that's two phones in two months. Talk about bad luck." You sigh.

"Never did find you're old one, hm? Not good, soldier."

"Oh, I'm sure it's lost in the ocean or blown to bits by now."

Ghost scoffs. "Hope so. Get inside."

When you'd first been stationed at his base, boredom often ate away at you until it felt like you'd go crazy. Ghost had been off on his own mission, the few friends you did have at that time never left the base of their own volition. But you, on the other hand, craved exploration. So you found yourself wandering the perimeter around the base, thinking about nothing and everything. That's when you discovered the beat-up old shed. At that time it was nothing more than a caved-in roof, rain-soaked flooring, and a broken window. Over the course of a couple weeks, you began to work to fix it up, glad to have something to focus on during your between-missions time.

When Ghost had returned to base during Christmas, and he realized that you too had no home to return to for the holidays, he began to join you.

Over that Christmas, you both turned it into somewhere you could both go to talk and occasionally share a few drinks. That was when you'd truly bonded with him. That was when he'd finally started letting you in willingly.

Dirt flecks off the frame of the door as you step inside, and it's just as dusty as you remember. Two chairs sit in the center with patchy blankets serving as cushions. An uneven table sits between them, one leg broken half off but supported by water-logged books stacked atop each other.

The moon filters in through the cracked window and paints the brown walls a beautiful blue.

Ghost sits with a grunt, kicking his feet out and sighing. It invites you, calls you in to shut the door behind you and settle beside him. So, you do. The chair creaks underneath your weight and you breathe out the frustrations of the day, gone into the air. For the first time that day, your guard lowers.

You just... breathe.

"What a nightmare this is." You sigh.

Ghost shrugs. "No one knows what 't think. They know something's not right."

A pang of relief visibly flushes through you, cut short when he shakes his head.

"Don't get too excited." He says quietly.

"...And why's that?"

"Graves called in his shadows." Ghost taps his finger against the table, lingering, picking and choosing his next words while you feel anxiety start to bubble within you. When he speaks again, it's forlorn. "He isn't exactly pushing for 'em to bring you in alive."

The weight of your heart dropping could have burst straight through the chair you sat on. It settles into your gut like an awful stone. A dull, pained chuckle escapes you.

"I knew he didn't like me, but damn."

Ghost shakes his head. "He's panicking. Thinks you can tell us where the missiles are."

"Missiles?" You ask, eyebrows raised in concern.

It must have struck him then, that Ghost hadn't yet updated you on the situation arising off-air. And judging by the way he tenses and leans forward in his chair, it must be pretty grim.

"Hassan... He's got our missiles. Three of 'em." As Ghost speaks with newfound hesitation and urgency, you can feel your nerves lighting up with each syllable. "We can't find the damn things. They get out... 'Lot of people will die."

"Jesus Christ." You wipe your palms down your face, eyebrows knit together. "How the hell did he get our missiles?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out. 'Pparently there's some messages and photos of you chatting with one of Hassan's men. That you might know a thing or two on where to find 'em."

"I haven't talked to anyone that wasn't our own." You groan. "God, what the fuck. And pictures?"

"From what I heard. They haven't shown 'em to us. Refuse to, actually." Ghost leans back in his chair, eyeing you like he's holding something back. "Like I said, no one knows what to think."

You stare down at your lap. Though you already know the answer, you find yourself asking anyways, with an uneven voice.

"...You trust me, right...?"

"God's sake." He scoffs, and you regret asking at all.

"I just have to be sure. Pictures can be convincing-"

"Pictures none of us have even laid eyes on. You think I'd be here right now if I didn't believe you?"

Guilt eats away at you, eyes downcast. "I know. I'm sorry. I just... I can't wrap my head around why of all people it had to be me."

"We'll find out. Shepherd won't give us hardly any information, and anything he does give us is... vague." Ghost is choosy with his words. "...Shepherd found and turned the evidence in himself, supposedly."

You feel an actual strike of nausea pulse through you.

"There's no way Shepherd would frame me." Though you try to say it with an even tone, your voice exposes your lack of confidence in your General. You suck in a breath when there's no reply. "Ghost..?"

Ghost doesn't answer, but his eyes do flick to yours. A silent, cautious confirmation.

You swallow. Hard.

"But... But what good could come of this? I mean up until now I've been an exemplary soldier. Like, not to brag here, but I graduated at the fucking top of my squad and I damn well aced every test they threw at me."

"I know all this." Ghost chimes. "Everyone knows all of this. I don't know what the big plan is. I don't even know if there is a big plan. I just know something isn't right."

There's a pause, and his eyes soften.

"I know you wouldn't do this."

Tears well at the waterlines of your eyes and you struggle to hold them back. With the military against you, Shadow's snapping at your heels at every chance they could get, and now faced with the chance that your own fucking general would frame you, you're completely unsure of what to do next. Ghost leans over the table and sets a firm hand on your shoulder.

You bite your tears back, refusing to let him witness you cry again. Twice in one day was just too much on your already shattered ego.

"What do I do?" Your voice betrays you, uneven and breaking.

Ghost stands up and sighs. "You aren't doing anything. You're staying here."

"For real?" You frown up at him, pawing at your eyes angrily. The sight of him preparing to leave makes your stomach churn- the thought of being alone in this shed all night slinking into your mind. "I can't just sit here and do nothing-"

"That's exactly what you're gonna do. Get some rest, tonight." Ghost doesn't even give you the chance to argue, already pulling the door open. You gape at him from your chair with wet eyes. You see the way he lingers, see the way he considers stepping back inside, but his resolve remains firm. For just a brief moment, he turns to look at you from outside.

You sit on the chair, bringing your knees up to your chest. Sounds from all directions reach your waiting ears as you take a final glance at him.

"I'll be back in the morning." He offers. The door shuts, and darkness encases you.

Shrouded in pitch black, listening to the sound of his footsteps growing further and further away, you fear tears sting your eyes once more. All alone, you let them slip down your cheeks.

You'd never felt so alone.

#mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

[whatyadrawin]

The Fruit After the Flesh 18+ -Chapter 9-

Minors DNI!

Masterlist

Approximately 4,872 words

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt (Headcanon) x AFAB reader

This chapters Warnings:  Sexual language, foul language, scary moment. This is Slasher smut, be mindful of that and use your discretion.

A/n: This chapter took me so long to complete! I had to read over it and edit like four times. I took 48 hrs to make all the art pieces starting from 3pm march first until 6am march second, took a nap, started back up to finish the art at 2:30pm and finalized EVERYTHING for upload at 6am March 3rd. I'm tired bro, I got so carried away with the art I really should have cut it down to just 3 images but artists always suffer for their passion, it's our curse. Let me know if you want to be in the tag list. I update chapter progress on the masterlist whenever something changes.

Please enjoy this chapter! I worked very hard on it so reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated very much.

Tag List: @fan-goddess , @artxasa

Chapter 9 

               The days at the Hewitt house went by slow as molasses, within these dragging days a construction crew had arrived and began repairing your home. They worked quickly and made a lot of headway which is unusual for contractors, the team seemed eager to leave for some unspoken reason. The foreman said that in one month, you would get your home back; you were excited to have your life get back on track despite enjoying your time at the Hewitt house. You made sure to water and trim the fruit trees so that they didn’t overgrow or die, since Dover was still missing, all the responsibility was left up to you. There was so much work to do but you were happy to be able to contribute your time to the property. In the passing days you didn’t see much of Tommy, he seemed preoccupied and was frequently away from the farm which only made the days last longer for you.

Half past 4pm, the day was really wearing on you and the sun was getting low in the sky so you decided to leave the orchard and head back to the Hewitt house to rest. On your walk back, you think about Tommy’s room and what it must look like, when you saw the door under that menacing red light it was simultaneously both frightening and intriguing.

The basement was such a dark and quiet place, so spacious and empty; You remembered that room with hooks that Tommy swiftly prevented you from exploring, your curiosity grew when he spun you around and slammed the door shut. This family has a mysterious history to you, the mention of them allegedly eating people weighed heavy on your mind -can I really get past the fact that they might have been cannibals? – it felt easier to gaslight yourself into thinking everything was fine, so you ran it out of your head.

When you arrived at the house, you make your way through the parlor and see Luda Mae sitting on the couch in the living room. She was reading a romance novel with a muscular, golden-haired man on the cover, it was reminiscent of the classics you had seen in your grandmothers closet as a kid. She sees you and places the book down to the side hurriedly as if she was ashamed of what she was reading,

“I-uh-ahem” She stuttered,

You smile politely “Reading anything good?”

She laughs, “Yeah, this one’s real saucy too. Thought I might get lost in it for a while.”

You felt bad for interrupting her, “Well don’t let me stop you, I’m just heading over to my room for some rest before dinner.”

she replies, “Oh, shoot that reminds me, best get dinner started now.” Luda Mae gets up with a groan and starts walking towards the kitchen.

“Time really does fly by when you find a good book.” She laughs as she passes.

You go to your room and get yourself changed and freshened up before dinner, you didn’t want to be around everyone while having the sweat of farmwork still lingering. You put on a comfortable pair of black tights and a white tank top which matched the white walking shoes you slipped on your feet.

When dinner was ready, you left your room to meet with the Hewitts at the dining table. The scent of roast chicken and baked corn wafted into the room, you were starving from having worked all day. Charlie was already sitting at the table when you arrived, he looked at you and said,

“Didja see the progress on the house?”

You take a seat, “Yeah, it’s coming along really fast, I’m surprised.”

He laughs “Don’t be, that crew probably knows this area ain’t so safe for ‘em. They’re smart, gonna get their paycheck and fuck off.”

You furl your eyebrows, “Why isn’t it safe for them?”

“Ah- Uh...” Charlie stopped himself when he caught a glare from Luda Mae from the kitchen,

“Well, what if they were to get hurt hm? Ain’t no hospital nearby or nothin’” he looked pleased with his answer.

You reply, “That’s a good point I guess.”

You know there is something more to what he said, but you didn’t want to push him. Luda Mae brought in the food, placing it all on the table followed by a big jug of ice-water, she groaned as she sat down; Tommy however, was missing tonight and you were worried,

You ask, “Where is Tommy? Is he not eating?”

Charlie laughs “That boy not eat? Maybe when hell freezes over after pigs fly n’ the fat lady sings.”

A devilish grin forms on his face before he turns to Luda Mae and says,

“Hey Luda, get the ball rollin’ n’ start singin’, then when the pigs grow wings Satan’s ass’ll turn to ice and the boy won’t be eatin’ us outta house n’ home no more.”

Luda Mae just rolls her eyes, she turns to you and says,

“Don’t worry hun, Charlie brought somethin’ to him so he don’t starve out there.”

You push for more info, “He’s been so busy lately; I feel like I never get to see him anymore. Where is he anyway?”

Charlie grabs a chicken leg and bites into it, he starts speaking with his mouth full,

“He’d shred us in half if we toldja. He’s been workin’ real hard though, wants to show you what all he’s been doin’ tonight”

Charlie swallows his food and continues, “He’s got a big ole’ hard on for you girlie, you better not be trailin’ him along fer nothin’, or he might lose it.”

Luda Mae whips her dishcloth at Charlie, who just smiles and winks at you. Luda Mae looks at you and says,

“Hope you get used to this foul-mouthed pig here, I might die from having to apologize on his behalf all darn day.”

She shakes her head at him and follows, “Thomas wants to meet up with you after you’re done eatin’. He wants to show you what he’s been workin’ on.”

Charlie pipes in, “Yeah, I bet he wants to show you somethin’. Probably whip out the fuckin’ anaconda he’s hidin’ down there. For an ugly motherfucker he sure was blessed. God is a real shit heel for that one.”

You squint your eyes at him, and he continues,

“He used to bathe outside when he was a youngin’ but once he grew up a bit the bulls started feelin’ emasculated.” Charlie starts laughing hysterically.

Luda Mae hides her face in her hands, she yells out,

“Why’r you talkin’ bout my boy’s privates like that!? You tryin’ to make us all upset?”

Charlie is now red in the face from laughing, he gets a sick pleasure in making people uncomfortable, but if anything, it just made you unbearably curious. You caught a glimpse of his erection when you watched Tommy run from you at the pond, it was greatly obscured but from what you could see, it was huge; You were able to feel the size and firmness of it in the laundry room, which factualized Charlies words.

He looked over at you, his eyes were watery from laughing so hard, he says,

“I’m sorry honey buns, but you need to be warned before you let him stick that goddamn two by four in ya.” He continues to laugh while he shovels corn into his mouth. You were still not used to his outlandish way of conversation and it made you blush.

The rest of dinner was mostly just Luda Mae trying to keep the subject matter light and Charlie giggling to himself. Once you cleared the table and packed away the leftovers, Luda Mae guides you to the door and says,

“Go wait for him by the silo, he’ll take you to his surprise. I hope you like it dear.”

The sun was now deep on the horizon which was losing its rosy hue, twinkling planets were already visible and the moon was following the dark part of the sky. You see Thomas leaning against the silo, he had one hand in his pocket and the other was fiddling with some wheat from the field to check the progress of the crop. He was wearing a very loosely fit tank top that looked old and worn, his pants were a pale blue jean with dirt and other stains scattered all over, he was still wearing his working boots which means he must have completed this surprise only today.

He looks up from what he was doing, when he sees you, he stood up straight, dropping the wheat to the ground. You could tell he was smiling, his deep blue eyes squishing upward gave it away, this made you smile wide as you felt knots form in your stomach. You felt like you hadn’t seen him in forever, time away really does make the heart grow fonder, it was agony not being able to spend time with him. He extended his hand to you and when you placed your hand in his and realized how small you really were compared to him, you felt like you could only hold onto two of his fingers while he could easily cover more than just your hand with his.

He looked at you and carefully pulled you toward the forest,

“Where are we going? It’s dark in there, sort of scary, isn’t it?” You were hesitant to be going into a dark forest as the sun was rapidly losing its light, he looked at you and tilted his head to the side,

“I’m here” he said calmly.

His voice was so deep and reassuring. You rarely ever hear him speak, so it felt like you won the lottery whenever he did utter out anything. He was walking slowly, he made sure to accommodate the vast difference in gait you both had by staying behind you, he guided you by gently moving you in the right direction with his hand on your shoulder. Even though you were nervous about the darkness of the forest, you felt safe with Tommy close to you. He was so large and unbelievably strong that there was no way harm could come to you.

Suddenly, Tommy stopped and turned you around to face him, he took your hands and covered your eyes with them, you couldn’t help but smile. He put his hand on the middle of your back to guide you further in, you trusted that he would ensure you don’t trip and fall. The ground went from dirt and crunching leaves, to soft grass, then a hard flat surface. Each step you took made a hollow wooden noise as if you were at a harbor. Tommy stopped you and moved your hands from your eyes. You looked around and gasped, you were on a dock that sat on top of the pond.

The moon was already shining a bright light on the water making it look like glass, the stars that now shone in the night sky were reflecting off the surface and turned the pond into what looked like a portal into space. The gentle croaking of frogs created a peaceful ambience, and as you walked further onto the dock you saw some wooden chairs to relax on, one was much larger than the other.

“Did you make all this?” your voice was exasperated with awe.

Tommy nodded again and pointed at you,

You smiled “You made this for me?”

He nodded again and went to sit on the largest chair, he tapped his hand on the other chair to get you to sit with him. You sat down and the deep seat forced you to recline which was relaxing.

“I’ve never had anyone do something like this for me. Thank you, Tommy, you’re such a thoughtful man.”

Tommy looked at you and nodded slowly, he made an approving ‘hmph’ noise, he felt good about pleasing you. The heat tonight was thick, it made your skin sticky with sweat, and you could see a slick shine on Tommy’s arms and chest. You get up from the chair to put your hand in the water, testing its temperature, small fish reveal themselves as they flash in the moonlight. You stand up and remove your shoes, Tommy stands up nervously and you giggle,

“Don’t worry, I won’t take off my shirt or underwear. It’s too hot to just sit down when we have the most immaculate natural pool right under our feet.”

You slowly take off your tights and fold them neatly on top of your shoes, the black thong you had underneath did nothing to conceal your feminine shape; Tommy turns away from you, staring off into the sky in an attempt to avoid gawking at you. It was amusing to you since he already saw most of your body the first time you were in the pond. You slowly lower yourself into the cool water of the pond, its cooling temperature feels like heaven.

Tommy heard you get in and slowly turns around to see you on your back, floating gently with the moon’s reflection circling your body, you looked like a goddess. You saw that he was just standing there watching you, you swim up to the dock and put your arms on the edge, you say,

“You know, you don’t have to just watch me.”

Seeing him act so shy was strange, a polar opposite of the last time you were both in the laundry room where he made no qualms of pushing himself up against your clothed pussy with his dick begging for entry. You watched as he took off his clothes, throwing them sloppily next to your neatly folded pile. You were annoyed that he was wearing black boxers which concealed the shape and size of his package too well, but being able to see his body almost completely unclothed was still enough to have you biting your lip in excitement.

Tommy had very long legs which were complemented by his thick thighs, his butt was muscular from having to haul his hefty body weight all over the farm. His torso was exactly as you pictured it, he had heavy muscle underneath a layer of fat that softened any sharp edges and did nothing but add mass to his already impressive size. His pecs were large and heaved with every breath he took, a smattering of soft hair covered the base of his chest and ran down his abdomen leading towards his groin, getting less sparse the lower it went.

Seeing him so exposed was odd, most people would look vulnerable, but he only looked more intimidating and fearsome especially since his arm muscles were well defined despite his soft torso. His size was not a mirage from thick clothes or padded jackets like most men you encountered, he really was authentically a behemoth of a man.

He lowered himself into the pond and let out a sigh of relaxation when he submerged his torso under the surface. You smile, and swim over to him,

“You deserve to relax after working so hard. I hope we could make this a frequent thing, something we could do together.”

You waited for a response, he looked at you and then up to the sky, he let out a positive ‘hm’ and nodded. You felt like you were in a dream, nothing you experienced was ever this beautiful, and no man was ever as generous as Tommy, you wanted to live in this moment forever. Tommy stands up in the water, he turns to you and grabs your hand to pull you to another part of the pond,

“C’mere” he says.

He pushes past some thick reeds and you end up in a tiny alcove where the water comes up to your chin and tall grasses circle you both which made the area very intimate. Tommy sees you struggling to keep your head out of water, he bends over you and grabs the smallest area on your waist under your ribs with both hands and he lifts you out of the water effortlessly. You let out a short-excited scream as he pulls you up and holds you close to his body. You’re barely able to straddle him, your chest was now just under his chin, your tank top clung to your breasts exposing your now hardened nipples. You placed both arms over his shoulders to prevent yourself from smothering his face with your bosom. He was so strong that you were able to sit comfortably on just the one arm, he looks out towards the grass and says,

“Watch”

Tommy used his free hand to splash water across the grass around you and it erupted with whirring, a horde of fireflies sprung out from their hiding places and lit up the night. You were stunned,

“I’ve never seen fireflies before, this is… this is magical.”

Tommy laughs and slowly turns to let you take in the full effect of the display before you, the glow of the fireflies created a warm soft light that was bright enough to let you see his eyes clearly, you couldn’t help but stare. He looked up at you, his eyes half lidded and glossy, he drank in every inch of the enchanting sight before him. When he looked into your eyes it was like projecting his soul into your mind, you could feel his emotions and you felt a deep comfort from it, like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.

You reach up and move his hair away from his face, he took your hand and held it to his cheek as he pressed his face into your touch, his eyes closing and letting out a deep breath. You smile at him and decide to be brave; you begin to slowly remove his mask but he abruptly stops your action with his hand, you could see his expression was full of worry, you say,

“If I keep my eyes closed will you let me take off your mask? I promise not to open them.”

Tommy looks off to the side thinking, he wasn’t scared of anything except losing you and he was worried that if you saw his full face, it would disturb you. He wondered what you were going to do, but the fear was stopping him from finding out. You see him deep in thought and speak again,

“Look” you close your eyes tightly, “I can’t see a thing, I promise I won’t peek.”

Tommy trusted you, and despite the anxiety running through his system, he removed his mask and let it hang down on one ear. He took your hand and guided it up to the left side of his face, which had no significant damage compared to the other side. You feel his stubble and softly move your hand down to his lips, they were smooth and parted slightly. You smile when your fingers reached his mouth, despite not being able to see his face, from what you were able to feel, you knew he was handsome. You slowly lower your head down and pause, hovering your lips over his and testing to see what he would allow. He didn’t resist.

You pressed your lips onto his and immediately felt a jolt of hormonal chemicals race through you like an electric shock, he let out a muffled sound of surprise. He pressed back and slowly lowered your body so he could kiss you on a more equal level. You extended the kiss by opening your mouth slightly, parting his lips only to press in on them again passionately, Tommy reciprocated the motion and was now breathing heavily through his nose, you could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest as he groaned with arousal, it was so deep that it vibrated into your chest further exciting you.

You could feel some strange deformation on one side of his face, your lips didn’t quite connect with his fully on his right side. You stayed closer to his left side since it felt a little bit more intact, you wished you could see how unique his face was. Imagining the damage done to him at such a young age was upsetting, it only emboldened your feelings for him.

The kiss was long and passionate, you both couldn’t get enough of each other, it felt like a sin to stop. Every time you pulled back from his lips, he leaned into you to catch them again parting and closing your mouths to enhance the connection you both so desperately craved. You could smell the air from his nose washing over you, it was strangely intoxicating almost like it was fresh mountain air which aroused you further. His free arm was now trailing up your spine until his hand found a resting place on the back of your neck.

You wanted more of him; your emotions were getting so intense that you moaned each time the pressure of the kiss increased. You placed your left hand on his shoulder, and your right on his collarbone. You ran your fingers over the thick muscle tensing on his neck, his carotid artery was pulsating with his heart beat, you continued feeling upwards and reached his jawline where his thick stubble prickled your fingertips. His features were so far above a stereotypically masculine ideal, it made you feel a cautious excitement, as if you encountered the final product of evolutionary success aimed to create a monster of man.

You finally pull away, making sure to keep your eyes closed. You are breathing heavily, letting out a soft moan as you lean your head back to get more air. Tommy covers his face back with the mask and gazes at you still drunk off the kiss and feeling lighter than air. The fireflies have now dispersed to the point where it was very dim around you both. He carries you back to the shallow area of the pond so you could stand up.

You smile, “Thank you for trusting me.”

Tommy nods and smiles under his mask. You wade in the water around him as he sits in the water so his torso is once again submerged, his head leaned back and eyes closed. You look around at the leftover fireflies lazily floating over top the glassy pond surface, the water gently laps at your hips.

 A feeling of unease creeps into your body and raises the hairs on the back of your neck, you stop moving and a sudden wave of anxiety rushed over you. In this moment you freeze and quiet your breathing, you felt an instinct to try to listen to the world around you very carefully but you couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. The feeling of something being…off was now overwhelming and setting you on edge. You quietly move closer to Tommy to create a sort of protective border from the surroundings and hold onto his arm, he opens his eyes and looks at you with concern.

“Somethings wrong” you say in a hushed tone.

Tommy immediately got up from his sitting position and stood alert, he closed his arms around you and searched with his eyes to see what spooked you;

He breathed out slowly and moved you back towards the dock. You were confused and frightened, a tense gut feeling was like an ancient ancestral alarm which you knew should never be ignored. He helped you up on the dock and followed behind after you walked toward your clothes. You quickly put on your tights and shoes and as Tommy got his clothes on you looked around, trying to find the source for this sudden dread. You slowly panned across the forest, until you see it.

In the distance, and shrouded in the shadows of night, a silhouette of a person stood still. It was too dark to make out any features and just as you saw them, they disappeared into the bush as if they were nothing but a hallucination. You get closer to Tommy who just finished pulling his shirt down over his body, you press your back into him to feel a sense of security. Tommy looks at you and bends his upper body over you as he looks around,

“Where” he says firmly,

You point to where the shadow was and whisper, “There was someone there, watching us.”

He didn’t need to see what you saw in order to know that the energy outside had shifted, all he wanted to do was get you to safety. He lifted you up into his arms and held you tightly, he took one look around to ensure the exit was safe and bolted; His movements were agile and fast, it almost felt supernatural. The trees whip past and you quickly lose sight of the pond, his footsteps reverberating thuds as he moves through the woods with expert agility.  Your eyes are wide with fear as you watch the forest behind you darken the further away you get; How Tommy was able to see things in the dark was a mystery to you.

Finally, you are out of the wooded area and coming up to where the silo was, the feeling of dread dissipates and Tommy slows his pace down, he wasn’t even huffing and puffing like most people would be doing after running so fast with a grown adult in their arms.

You hug him tightly, “Thank you for carrying me.”

You give him a kiss on his neck and continue to tighten your grip. Tommy brings you into the house and shuts the door behind you both, he gently lowers you to the floor, you keep hugging him as you stand on your tip toes. He felt very protective of you and was mad that someone scared you so much. His rage was building the more he thought about someone being on his property watching the two of you. He wondered how they would have been able to evade the multiple traps he set up around the pond perimeter.

Tommy grabs your shoulders and pushes you back slowly, he lifts your chin to have you look up at him. He sees the worried look on your face and it fuels his rage of the intruder,

“Go sleep, I gotta do somethin’.”

His voice was rich in baritone, you could hear anger in his words. You didn’t want him to leave, but before you could tell him to stay, he was out the door. You made your way to the washroom to shower off the pond water and get ready for sleep, Luda Mae and Charlie were already asleep upstairs, unaware of the situation. You were disturbed by what you saw, but as long as Tommy was out there, you felt safe in the house. You went to bed that night worried, who was that shadow and what will happen if Tommy catches them? The morning couldn’t come soon enough.

Next chapter-

#what ya writin #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x y/n #slasher community #thomas hewitt x afab reader #leatherface 2006 #texas chainsaw massacre #my art #the fruit after the flesh #slasher smut #slasher x reader #slasher thirst #slasher fandom

[dreamilycleardonut-blog]

Look change

This time you had surprised Mike.

It was normal for you to have changes in your look, a new haircut, new clothes or even different ways of doing your makeup. Mike loved every one of those little existential crises you had at least once a year. Abby adored your slightly long hair, she liked to style it or simply admired it for how cute it looked; Your hair was naturally dark brown, it almost looked black.

Mike loved your hair much more, the softness it had and even though sometimes it was uncontrollable thanks to the frizz he still told you how beautiful you looked. It had been 2 years since the last time you had a haircut, Christmas time was approaching and it was thanks to Abby that you had the idea of ​​a change, again.

That happened one day when you took an old box that held all your memories to the Schmidt house. Both Mike and Abby were excited to see what you were like in the 90s and great was their surprise when they saw that you were not what they thought. they imagined.

"You were a rockstar!" Abby exclaimed, taking photos of the box. "I was goth, Abby," you responded with a tender smile as you also looked at the photos. "What a beautiful time."

Mike looked surprised at the photos of his girlfriend. Even though in the images he did not use his characteristic hairstyles that corresponded to that style, he did use makeup and boy did he like it because in all of them he had it along with his black boots.

"It's not so difficult now to imagine you like that," Mike said, looking at you and then smiling, "it's just that, right now everything makes more sense." And it was true, even though now you no longer wear clothes as flashy as the dresses and big, heavy black boots were, you still dressed in black things and there were times when you wore makeup but nothing out of the ordinary.

You liked it that way, it made you feel comfortable in your daily life to carry out your obligations such as keeping your job and sometimes taking care of Abby. Only when you could, of course, that was Mike's excuse for you to stay the night.

"You had green hair! Impossible!" Abby shouted with notable surprise with the photo in her hand, Mike quickly took it from her to look at his girlfriend with light green hair and black tips, she was wearing a long black dress. and she was sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree while laughing with her friends.

Now in the present you were nervous, since that day you felt like changing your hair color but to something that your teenage self could do without a problem even though you weren't old enough for it to look strange but you did feel out of place. Any inappropriate comment could easily hurt you at this time.

Mike on the other hand had picked up Abby from school, today he had the day off so he could calmly be with his favorite girls at home. She got out of her car, noticing that you had already arrived thanks to the white car that was in the garage. Abby was the first to enter the house while her brother yelled at her not to run or she could fall and hurt herself.

The girl started looking for you all over the house while Mike headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

"Abby" you said leaving the bathroom in silence, the girl turned around to go hug you as usual but she was surprised to see you and just yelled "what happened to you?!" That caught Mike's attention, it alarmed him a little and that caused him to practically run towards where you were but he stopped immediately when he noticed your new appearance; You had blue hair and you had cut it to your shoulders.

You were crouched down so Abby could get a better look at your hair and start slowly running her fingers through your hair and she had an expression of love at how cute she looked. "Can I paint it too?" I ask, looking at her brother with a smile. "When you grow up and you pay for it," he responded sarcastically, making the girl look bad for his response. "I can buy you a wig" you commented as you stood up straight so that Mike could see you better.

Literally in the boy's mind Schmidt made a circuit when he saw you better, you were fucking beautiful. Apart from your new hair, you had on a black outfit that made your figure stand out; You were wearing pants that were somewhat tight around the hips and thighs but ended in a bell while the shirt was long-sleeved mesh that left your shoulders visible and finally you had a corcet that covered your breasts giving a heart shape and to finish you were wearing boots that made you look 6 centimeters taller than your boyfriend.

Mike was delirious right now and his shocked expression wouldn't go away. You thought that maybe you looked out of place because of your age or the Gothic style was simply not to his taste.

"How do I look?" You asked nervously, you wanted to appear calm but his silence scared you. The boy blinked several times to collect his thoughts and not have a verbal vomit but he only said "I don't know what to say" he confessed "you look...so fucking good, god, I thought he changed it would be a haircut but this surpassed my expectations." .

You laughed at his words, maybe they weren't as sweet as you expected but they were enough to brighten up that moment of your day because at night when Abby is fast asleep in her room, Mike won't hesitate to demonstrate how your new style works. It can get hot in two seconds.

_______________

sorry for the spelling errors 🍒💓

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's movie #five nights at freddy's oneshot #abby schmidt #josh hutcherson

[selkies-world]

Sign the petition to demand the creation of a new international law requiring fast-fashion garments to come with a statement of the human cost and environmental harm caused by their creation.

We all know fast fashion is bad for the planet - slave labor, environmental waste, air and water pollution, and unsustainable practices are just a few of the ways they impact our planet, our health and our lives. To date, the fast fashion industry is the 2nd largest consumer of water and is single-handedly responsible for 10% of global carbon emissions (that's more than all international flights and maritime shipping across a year combined). Even the simple act of washing these clothes releases 500,000 tons of microfibers into the ocean each year - that's equal to 50,000 plastic bottles. Fast-fashion is the 3rd leading cause of the climate crises we face, yet is rarely addressed.

Knowing these stats is one thing, and understanding them is important. Being aware of them is somewhat informative. But as long as we keep turning a blind eye to the issue, the stats are only going to get worse, and nothing will change for the better. Ignoring the issue or brushing it under the rug won't help anything. So what if we could see the real-world damage done by each of the garments we buy?

In the same way that cigarette packets have shown the harm their products do to our bodies ("SMOKING KILLS", lung cancer visualizations, etc.), what if fast fashion manufacturers & retailers had to show the harm their products do to our planet?

[Image ID: A type-writer font has been used on a brown craft paper background. The text reads: "32 animals lost their habitat to the field where my crops were planted - 2 of those animals are already endangered species. 2,700 litres of water were used in my production. I was made in a sweatshop enslaving men and women aged 16 - 45, and children aged 6 - 14. I contain 0.22kg of carbon dioxide dye." End ID.]

This is a mock-up of a label / statement for a single T-shirt, with researched statistics and educated estimates for the information I couldn't find a calculated answer for.

Now imagine labels / statements like this for every single piece of clothing: how many toxic chemicals are in those new jeans? How many litres of water did that shirt take to make? How many animals were skinned to make those cute fur-trimmed boots? How many children made that jumper? How many people were forcibly removed from their homes, so production companies could plant crops to grow the materials used in clothes manufacturing? How many families were evicted for no reason other than corporate greed? How many trees were cut down? How many animals were displaced or killed?

Would you really want to buy those items of clothing if the answers to those questions were staring you in the face?

If this information was stated in clear, accessible ways on both the website and the ticket on the actual garment, this would dramatically reduce the number of people buying fast fashion items. It would also reduce the profits being made by fast fashion companies, and could lead to many of them being forced to choose between changing and becoming sustainable, eco-froendly and ethical brands, or shutting down due to being boycotted.

Who would really want to knowingly buy things that are made by slaves, or which cost a family their home, or which contributed to deforestation? Who would continue to buy fast fashion items knowing this is the damage caused by them, when sustainable alternatives are an option?

Whether it's second-hand fashion at affordable prices, or investing more money in sustainable products which were made with high ethical standards and which cost more money due to the fact their price accounts for the time it took a person to make that item... we can say for certain that sustainable shopping is going to become much more popular if people know how important that change is. Sustainable items last much longer than fast-fashion items, which by design are created to self-destruct, as they are made to be worn a few times and then discarded in order to be replaced by the next trend's items - and as trends speed up, these items become weaker and weaker. This then leads to people spending more money in order to keep up with the newest trends, and to keep replacing clothes they throw out after a few washes.

In contrast, buying sustainable items which are designed to last years means people won't have to spend money on new clothes every few weeks, which means they'll ultimately save money in the long term and actually be able to afford those pricier items which will last much, much longer.

Now, despite the amount of harm the fast-fashion industry causes to people and the environment, the last thing we should be doing is getting angry at those who continue to buy them. Being the target of anger doesn't make large populations change their behaviour - even a cursory look through history books will tell us that much. Neither does being the target of resentment or blame.

But guilt? Shame? Those are two of the most powerful emotions to magnify when you want change to happen in waves.

And frankly, if people feel ashamed of buying something, or if buying something makes them feel guilty... they're going to stop buying it.

Those aren't the only emotions that should be felt, though. Because only feeling guilt and shame leads to feeling hopeless, scared, anxious and depressed. And we don't want that. No matter how bad things get... we don't want that.

The only other emotions to provoke are hope and pride.

If there's no hope for the future, how can anyone be expected to imagine a better one?

You wouldn't think it, what with all the climate crises and disasters we experience around the world and the total lack of commitment made by billionaires, multimillion-dollar companies and corporations and politicians.

But it's true. Scientists in Scotland have discovered bacteria which eat plastic and speed up the decomposition of it. ‘Ecocide’ is now punishable by law. Some countries within the EU are already close to meeting their 2030 goals years ahead of schedule! Thanks to scientists and small, individual changes made on a massive scale by ordinary people who are making small adjustments to our everyday choices, we can and are healing most of the ozone layer before 2050. That is something we should all feel incredibly proud of.

So imagine how much we could speed that process up if more people made those changes. Imagine how much sooner we could heal our planet if billions of people made those changes, rather than millions. Imagine how much sooner we could be seeing the effects of a healthier planet if fast fashion companies were forced to choose between going green and transparent, or closing altogether due to a lack of interest from consumers. Imagine the changes we could create if corporations made massive changes in a short amount of time, in order to save their own profits.

Imagine more labels like this, sitting alongside each other on every single piece of fast fashion clothing. A statement like this beneath every item of clothing on fast fashion websites, which transparently states the harm done.

If every single fast-fashion company and store had to display this on their clothing, on their racks, on their websites, and if there were legal punishments for those who tried to evade or lie... fashion would turn a lot greener very quickly. We'd start seeing more and more labels with "I'm made from 6 plastic bottles! I used to be a newspaper! I had 0 pesticides used on me in my production! I only contain natural dye made from berries, beans and sustainably grown flowers. I was made from apple skins and corn! The people who made me get to go home to their families every night, have days off and the adults made £150.35 each in 1 week! The animal who made the wool for me is free-range and well-cared for! I came from a small family farm, and was created with a closed-loop water system!”

That'd be a much better civilisation to shop in, don't you agree?

That is hope for the future.

That is motivation, which can fuel ordinary people to do extraordinary things and create changes they thought were impossible.

If you want to be a part of creating this change, sign the Change.org petition which demands the the creation and implementation of an international law which will require all fast-fashion products to be displayed with a statement which states the harm done to people and the planet by that garment being made & shipped.

#fast fashion #fashion #climate crisis #climate change #climate action #climate catastrophe #environmentalism #environment #environmetalists #enviromental #sustainability #sustainable #economy #ecofriendly #ecosystem #europe #earth #ecommerce #society #socialist #sociology #social justice #social media #slave labor #children #child labor #children's rights #environmental justice #petition #petitions

[gunkbaby]

All Of Shuu’s TG Calender Appearances! (In Chronological Order!)

*this was initially just gonna be a twitter thread but I’m posting it here first bc is easier to draft and arrange. :) Wrote the little information cards that are under the pics and will try to image ID them for the text late one.

Under a cut bc there are twenty-four of them! Enjoy! <3

(I believe the image below is from an anime calender? Or something? I’m not sure.)

January 12th - Skiiing Day

On January 12, 1911, Major Lerch of the Austrian Army first taught a young officer in the Niigata Prefecture how to ski. Be careful when doing tricks!

February 6th - Blog Day

Based on bu (2) rogu (6). A blog post from Shuu, it reads: “February 6 Have you heard of a flower called the ‘Hardenbergia’? It is also called a ‘Komachifuji’ and as its name suggests, it blooms with lovely purple petals. And here is the usual Tsukiyama Shuu’s Flower Language Corner. In flower language, a Hardenbergia refers to: “A fateful encounter.” “Happiness will unexpectedly drop in.” …and the like. There’s also “a miraculous miracle”… —But this is what I think. Encounters are always fateful, and reunions are always miraculous. Fate, miracles, our world is filled with such. This moment is also a miracle.” The comments feature Touka being quite rude, Kaneki adding little of importance, and Yomo not understanding technology.

February 13th - Bank Robbery Day

On February 13th, 1866, the first ever successful bank robbery took place in America by Jesse James.

February 25th - Hori Chie’s Birthday

Hori was Tsukiyama Shuu’s classmate in Seinan High School. Hori treats Tsukiyama as her photographic subject and despite Tsukiyama being a ghoul, she doesn’t fear him. Tsukiyama in return finds her intriguing and treats her as a pet. Their relationship continues on until now making them long-time acquaintances. Whether they have a good relationship or not, it’s difficult to say for sure.

March 3rd - Tsukiyama Shuu’s Birthday. (Obviously.)

Happy Birthday, Tsukiyama Shu.

March 26th - Untitled.

No text.

March 31st - Untitled.

The inauguration (to celebrate the completion of the structure) of the Eiffel Tower in Paris was held today. I wonder if Tsukiyama has ever been to France before.

April 28th - Nice Bath Day no. 3

No text.

May 1st - Untitled. Shu’s second blog post.

This blog reads as follows: ‘Hey, everyone. We have now entered May, yes? Speaking of May 1, it is a custom in France to send muguet (Lily of the Valley) as a present to the person you love on this day. And the recipient is said to be visited by great fortune.” Now then, upon hearing the words ‘the person you love’, whose face do you picture in your mind? How about giving flowers as gifts to him?…Or her? …With that said, that beloved person you just thought of may already be a happy person at this point. Shu.’

May 11th - Salvador Dali’s Birthday

The Persistence of Memory. “I saw three soft Shuus. One of them had a deplorable figure that hanged down from the branch of the olive tree.”

May 27th - Hyakunin Isshu Day

No. 86 Saigo Hoshi “Should I blame the moon, for bringing forth this sadness, as if it pictured grief? Lifting up my troubled face, I regard it through my tears.” Grief? Is that what you’re trying to say, moon? I don’t think so. Did I only just want to blame the moon for this sadness?

May 28th - Fireworks Day.

On this day in 1733, fireworks were launched for the first time for a festival in Ryogoku. The festival was first held by the 8th shogun of the Tokugawa shogunate, Yoshimune, in order to calm the spirits of the dead who fell to the great famine and cholera in the previous years. Now, it is held annually as water god festivies to ward off evil spirits. (Note: turn up the brightness or stare very hard for a long time. He is there, I promise.)

June 9th - 6th Ward Day

A huge amount of members were sacrificed during the annihilation of ‘Aogiri’s Hideout’ in the 11th Ward. Afterwards, Kaneki left ‘Anteiku’ in order to follow Rize’s footsteps and entered a new world, the ‘6th Ward’, alongside Tsukiyama and Banjou.

June 25th - Spaceyama.

No text. Shuu gets a cow and a Strange Thing and his father is proud.

July 20th - The Day of the Moon Landing

On 1969, the human race landed for the first time on the moon in the spacecraft, Apollo 11. At that time, Commander Armstrong sent a message to Earth saying, “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind”.

August 6th - Handsome Day

Based on ha (8) nsa mu (6).

August 27th -Miyazawa Kenji’s Birthday

A poet and writer of fairy tales who was based in his hometown of Iwate. The paradise of his work was given the name ‘Ihatov’.

In his masterpiece “The Restaurant of Many Orders”, two young men went hunting in the forest, got lost, and strayed into a restaurant called ‘Wildcat House’. The irony of it all is when the two instead became the food.

September 21st - Fashion Show Day

On this day in 1927, the first fashion show in Japan took place in kimono shop called Mitsukoshi in Ginza. At that time, kimonos were mainstream.

September 8th - TG’s 5th Year Anniversary

Serialization strted on Weekly Young Jump No. 41 which was sold on this day in 2011. Thank you very much for reading.

September 9th - Rollcake Day

Based on how the cross section of a rollcake forms a ‘9’. June 6th is also called ‘Rollcake Day’ for a similar reason.

September 16th - Match Day

On this day in 1948, freely selling previously rationed matches was accepted.

October 14th - Glasses No.2

No text.

October 25th - World Pasta Day

On this day in 1995, the World Pasta Congress was held in Italy.

October 26th - Kishimen Day

Kishimen is a slick type of noodle that’s thin and wide in width. Based on tsu (2) ru (6) which means ‘slick’ or ‘slippery’. It is also considered the ‘autumn of appetite’.

December 23rd - Palindrome Day 3

‘Intimidating, Tsukiyama… Will you get burned?’

December 29th - Chanson Day

On this day in 1990, a long-established Chanson cafe in Gonzales called ‘Ginpan’ went out of business. The place was known as a gateway to success for Chanson singers.

Ok I think that’s all :)

Tell me if I have missed one, I will edit. Sorry, am tired from exam prep, hopefully this is okay. I love you so much. I feel like Shuu is always home for me in stressful times.

I’m planning to do one of these for Kanae and Rize too. I can do other characters I guess afterwards.

I own this calender. I think I might like a second one to cut out and make postcards with to go on my Shuu shrine.

#Goodness. I hope this is all correct #It took me so long #that second blog post always makes me sad :( #Bless you shuu #Thank you for being a part of my life #shuu tsukiyama #Tokyo ghoul #shuucore #gunk #tg gunk #tg calender

[lu-twilights-pup]

“Do I Have to Avoid Dark Chocolate Now?

A short Twilight fic

Disclaimers:

Mentions of vomit, mentions of dog sickness, general fluff though

————

It had been about 6 weeks since he had revealed his secret to his friends and brothers

He could somehow not hear his own thoughts, only his stomach. It refused to acknowledge anything his head had to say.

It had been 2 weeks since everyone began to become completely comfortable with him again, in spite and because of his secret. Relaxing and no longer on edge once it fully clicked that he was still just him.

His stomach lurched again, determined to empty whatever foreign intrusion it thought was left in his body. He didn't think even his stomach was left in his body after heaving for what felt like hours.

It had been 4 hours since he had eaten Wild’s new cherry pie recipe–having never had cherries.

And right now, any anxiety Twilight had been going through about his brothers finding out he was essentially a werewolf—a divine beast, a monster of myth, a thing to be feared in stories told to children—was tossed out the window. Replaced with a new fear of possibly throwing up his skeleton, and a newfound disdain for small red fruits, caked in sugar and pastry.

Warriors held back his hair as a single strand of his bangs stuck to his forehead.

“Are you alright there, rancher?” He winced a bit as he took a peak at the bush he had, at this point , defiled. He scrunched his nose at the smell.

“Yeah.” Twilight sighed shakily. “I think m’ good for now.” He sat back, allowing his body to unclench, and muscles to relax for a moment, hoping to be done.

The sun peeked through the trees of the clearing they had made their camping spot. It dusted the area with light, particles of dust and pollen drift through the air through the sun beams. The gentle breeze shows the foliage around them, cooling the spot and adding to the life of the forest. Any other day, Twilight would have sat for hours admiring the area. Smoking in its peacefulness and simply breathing in the life and magic that pulsed through the forest floor, through his feet and into his heart. But right now, he was simply irritated.

He huffed. “This sucks.” His foolish response earned a chuckle from some of his brothers. Warriors clapped him gently on the back, with a weak smile before getting up, probably to wash his hand in the nearby steam.

“Well at least we know not to buy any more cherries.” Four tried to lighten the mood a bit. Wind sat next to him, nodding along, still focused on his extra portion of pie. “You had no idea you were allergic?” He glanced at the plate in Wind’s hands, then back to Twilight.

“No,” He followed his gaze to the plate, glaring, “Not at’ all. I had neve’ even hearda’ cherries ‘fore now. Little fuckers.” He mumbled.

“Language.” A soft jab, with little bite behind it came from Time.

Wild had managed to hobble over with some bread and water, signing once he put it down. “I’m still really sorry.” it spelled out. His shoulders drooped as he refused to look at Twilight in the face. He softened a little, at least as little as he could with out just completely slumping over.

“S’ alright cub, I didn’ know, s’ no way you coulda.” Wild fussed at this, perking up and furrowing his brows deeply.

“Yes I should have, I mean dogs can’t eat cherries! I would have never given them to Wolfie, I shouldn't have given them to you!” The image of the dark gray wolf came to mind, he too would have probably avoided such things. And perhaps there had been a time when Wild kept the hound away form certain ingredients. But he had though it was simply Becasue he had none to spare.

“I ain’t a dog though!” Twilight debated, “at least, not completely.” He placed his head in his hands as he groaned.

“I mean you technically are. Dog, werewolf, same thing. At least biologically speaking. It makes sense you should be able to eat that stuff! I mean you’re a bit more wolf than man by now.” Legend argue, shrugging a bit.

“Am not!” He snapped, a low grumble sounding in his chest.

“I watched you chew on a stick!”

Twilight’s face flushed. “Was pickin’ my teeth.” He grit out through a clenched jaw.

“Uhuh, riiiight.” Legend smirked.

“Boys!” Time barked out, clearing the chaos. “Whatever the case may be, let just avoid non-dog-safe foods for now. We don't want to take the risk, and there's no telling how toxic they will or won't be. This time might be vomiting, let's not ponder what comes next.”

They all could seem to agree on that. There was only so much they could do, especially on the road to help him if he at something poisonous.

Hyrule pulled out a pen and paper and slowly they began checking off what was and was not safe to be consumed, going through provisions and marking off anything with such ingredients. Away went garlic and onions. As well as grapes a some other smaller fruits. He was rather happy that he didnt have to give up peppers or pumpkin. It was lucky enough that most foods he couldn’t eat, he generally didn’t as they just rarely crossed his path, and he want too bothered by most of the restrictions. Until it wasn’t.

“Wait, you mean t’ tell me I need t’ avoid chocolate!?” Twilight all but squawked, sitting up much too quickly for his still nauseous body. Of all of them, he himself did not have too much of a sweet tooth, but that wasn’t to say he didn't like sweets at all. If there was one guilty pleasure he allowed himself, it was the occasional dark chocolate. Every year Uli made a batch of it for holidays, and an second one came out around his birthday. It was something he hasn't had in quite a while now that he thinks about it—not since his adventure.

He hadn’t been home for his birthday, and Uli had been a sick around the holidays. And as much as he wanted to he had no time to stop by the fancier chocolate shop that was in castle town whenever Zelda had summoned him.

“Absolutely.” Wild stiffened from his spot, sending a pointed look at him. “Chocolate is borderline deadly to dogs. Even a little can make you horridly sick!” Wild hissed as his hands moved.

“But…” Twilight couldn't quite gather his words, face morphing between emotions. “But...it's chocolate!!” He whined like a child. He sounded more like the youngest of the group instead of one of the oldest. His ears drooped to his shoulders, framing his unconscious look of puppy-dog eyes. “How m’ I supposed t’ avoid chocolate?”

“With a steel resolve and our help.” Sky laughed, “I mean it’s just chocolate. How hard can it be? I didn't even know you liked it that much.”

“Easy fer ya to say! Who doesn’ like chocolate?” Twilight furrowed his brows before rubbing his face with his hands. Two hands went up at his question, but he merely glared at them from under his brow until they fell back to their respective sides.

“I can leave cherries be, and I don' care much else for tha’ other stuff, but this?” Twilight made a rapid gesture with his hands.

“Pup , I think you’ll be fine. I’m sure there is something just as good you can have.” Time glazed at Wild as he spoke, the resident chef, hoping he could come up with something–anything.

“Yeah!” Wild was quick to his feet. “There has got to be something that you like more than chocolate, right?”

Twilight stared up at him with a pitied look in his eye. It was almost comical how the man seemed so distraught over such a sweet, half of them didn’t even know he enjoyed.

“Dark chocolate.”

The other heroes erupted into varying fits of laughter at this. Some like Time simply chuckled, while others, like Warriors or Four, attempted to hide their titters behind a hand or clenched jaw.

“Come on Twilight. We’ll find something….eventually.” Warriors patted his back, but he simply depressed into the man’s side, coming to terms with his turmoil with a sigh.

“Fine. But it better be jus’ as good.”

“It’ll be my greatest feat yet, and my best creation yet, you’ll see! It’ll be better than dark chocolate!” He signed, almost too mast for Twilight to read.

“I doubt that.”

“This one won't kill you so it’s proven to be better.”

Twilight just sighed, stifling his own snicker at the whole ordeal. A feat this surely would be.

#twilight linked universe #linked universe #hall has words #this was so goofy to write

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 8. Rosemary For Holly [B4]

Pairing: Snape x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Setting: Hideout Cabin somewhere in Scottland

Continuation of: Prompt 2. Restless Waiting, Prompt 3. Snowballing, Prompt 7. Stormy Reunion

A/N: Let's get right back to Snape & Belinna today again! 😍 Honestly, this prompt has so far been the hardest to work with - but I do love a challenge and I hope you'll like my choices for this specific one 🥰 I also wanted to take a moment to say that it's more than alright to choose. Making choices for yourself is what you're supposed to do. If that choice is what family you spend Christmas with, what person you devote emotions to, what tradition you hold close or what standard you hold yourself and others to - it's your choice! Especially during times (like holidays) when pressure from others are at an all-time-high you still have a right to make choices for yourself darling ❤

Tags/TW’s: Longing, Hugging/Embracing, Confessions, Hope vs Hopelessness, Wishing For More, Telling Of Secrets, Loving Ones Chosen Family, Keeping Traditions, Emotional Turmoil, Caring For Each Other, Hand Kiss

Word Count: 1.4k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

The tea in my cup had since long gone cold. My hands were still wrapped around the cup though. I couldn’t make myself move. The things he was telling me — the meetings with Death Eaters, the espionage, the double agent thing as a whole really — were too much to take in in just one sitting. Yet, he’d told me, in no uncertain terms, that he was in fact part of it all. I had known, I really had, yet I hadn’t known anything at all. It was a difficult thing to make sense of, knowing without knowing and not knowing at the same time.

My head spun with questions, fears, wishes, dreadful images, and hurt. By Merlin, there was so much hurt flooding my heart I could barely take it. All I could do was remain still and quiet while he sat opposite me in the cold cottage with not so much as a flicker of emotion visible. He was as stoic as ever, even when speaking of death and torture, of the horrors he had witnessed and to some extent been a part of by pure necessity to keep his access to the Dark Lord.

“Belinna,” he said and I jolted, not ready for him to speak again so soon. “Do you understand the danger you are in?” I shook my head, for I still didn’t understand — how could I possibly grasp years upon years of it all in just one evening? “You… You…” But no other words came out. “Yes, I am and I will always be part of this. I cannot leave this behind, or extract myself from it. The moment I try, I am dead and we are without insight.”

I took a deep breath, feeling oddly numb as my emotions clashed within me. Why had my heart decided that this man was it for me? Why do I wish to give him all I have? Offer him all I am? Why, by all things magical, do I want to just hold him and-, and-, and… And just love him? I looked around the little cottage, seeing all the ragged decorations, the bleached old plastic garlands, the lack of sparkle and warmth despite my best efforts. It reminded me too much of Severus, the man I loved who had done all he could without the future turning any brighter with the Dark Lord on the rise and darkness creeping in from all corners.

“You must stay away—” “I couldn’t find any holly,” I whispered while my eyes lingered on those dreary garlands. Where there were supposed to be twigs of holly tied to the ends and middle there was nothing. “Holly?” he asked, his voice darker but nearly surprised. “There was no holly,” I whispered while my eyes watered and the world seemed to darken further while I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the infernal garlands. “I always have holly, every year there’s holly. People think the tree is the most important decoration… I-, there’s-, holly is my… and there’s no holly. I have no holly,” I whispered while my cheeks turned wet with tears.

I wasn’t crying about the holly, wasn’t sad about the holly, wasn’t hurt about there not being any holly, I wasn’t broken over the lack of the greenery — I knew that, but my mind got stuck on it, projecting my feelings onto the traditional piece of decoration I truly loved and which held deep traditions of Christmas wishes for me and my family by choice. My pureblood family had since long cast me out, my family by blood not truly the family I loved. The muggles who took me in were the people whose traditions mattered to me. My friendship with their witch of a daughter, the summers I’d spent under their roof, the Christmas gifts they had sent me, and all the birthday cards I’d received with my name exchanged for “our daughter” and theirs with “mom and dad” — that was the family who’s traditions mattered to me and, for them, holly was the most important decoration.

“Tell me,” he said as I squeezed the cup in my hands and bit my lip to keep it from trembling. “It’s for wishes,” I whispered. “You fill them with wishes all through December, and burn them at New Year’s Eve.” “I have never heard of such a tradition.” “It’s not common,” I said with a deep exhale as I tried to calm myself and rein in the tears. “But, it was ours, theirs…”

Severus rose from his chair the next moment, walking around to kneel on one knee next to me. He reached out his hand for me and I took it gingerly, the slight chill of his skin a strange comfort. “I am sorry, love,” he said and my heart seemed to do a somersault at that last word. “Severus, don’t,” I whispered while I squeezed his hand. “I’d give up any and all traditions if-, if it would help you.” “I tried, I truly endeavoured to keep you away.” “But I’m tenacious,” I chuckled on a snivel. “Indeed, you are.” “You’re worth it, Sev.” “I— To hear you say such a thing is infuriating.” “Why?” “You are worth far more than anything I could ever offer, and I have nothing but death and uncertainty to offer in this life. The choices I have made…” “Have turned out to be for the greater good, what better quality in a man could I ever ask for?” “One that would upend the world for you.” “Is that not what you’re trying to do? Aren’t you putting your life on the line each and every day to upend the darkness? To keep us safe? To help end— End him ?” “You have a way of seeing things so differently…” “I think that’s you, Sev. If… When people find out what you have done, I’m sure they will all hail you a hero at the end of this.”

Severus lowered his gaze, squeezing my hand before placing the most gentle of kisses atop my knuckles. It felt dreadfully wonderful, a kiss of want and sorrow. “There will not be a time after for me. I'm not delusional enough to think so, or hope for it. You, however, are making it an entirely new degree of difficult not to want it.” “Severus! Don’t say such a thing!” “It's merely the truth, love. You should have stayed away, allowed me to push you away.” “Never.” I reached for his chin, tilting his head back to regain eye contact. “I will never allow that.” “The matter is already over, he saw you in my mind, he knows there’s something about you that holds significance to me. Now, you need to hide, stay away, remain unseen or I—” His voice broke off as his jaw clenched. “If I am your undoing, I will never forgive myself.” “It was my choice. Mine, not yours.” “You were unaware of the danger.” “That’s hogwash and you know it. I’ve seen the Dark Mark while we brewed potions, I’ve noticed you slipping away from Hogwarts, and having meetings with Dumbledore, making strange potions that have nothing to do with school… The way you’ve changed… I knew you were… Knew you were part of something bigger, darker, but I… I can’t tell my heart not to love you and try.”

There were no more words after that. Not one word spoken between us for the rest of the evening. We sat on the rickety sofa, watched the fire dance in the hearth, and held each other. There were so many words we both needed to speak, but neither of us seemed to want to. For the time being, I merely wished to hide in his arms and soak up his warmth, engrave his scent on my skin, burn the feel of his arms around me into my memory forever.

When I woke up, laying on the couch with two blankets covering me and no Severus in sight, my eyes snagged on the dreary garland above the fireplace. Greenery was tied to the middle of it with a black string, it hadn’t been there before. I flicked my wand and the fire roared to life anew, the hearth already stocked with wood, and slipped out from the blankets.

I walked closer, my eyes never leaving the greenery while warmth began to spread from the fire and my heart. My fingers reached out and graced the thin little needles of the greenery only for the scent to fill my nose. Rosemary… A staple in potions… Rosemary for holly… I gripped at the clothes over my chest and smiled at the sweet gesture, my heart warmed while my cheeks turned wet with tears over the small kindness and his care.

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: I'm not quietly sobbing, nu-uh, absolutely not feeling all the bittersweet feels right now... Nope... No... But I am so in love with how this turned out and I am a full-on advocate for choices so I'm glad I could fit so much of it in a fic during Rickmas 🥰👏 Also, as you've probably noticed we're sort of following canon events but I will say again - all Rickmas2023 fics will have a HEA (in case you're fretting a bit) ❤

Q: Do you get snow during wintertime where you live? ⛄ A: We do! It's been a bit off the past couple of years - less snow than usual - but this year we already got lots of snow! 😍👏

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Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

#rickmas2023 #rickmas #snape x oc #snape christmas fic #snape fic #pro snape #severus snape #professor snape #alan rickman #rickmaniac

[ms0milk]

𝟑 | 𝐓𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"The whistle of something moving too fast sings through the trees and you reach across your body without the privilege of planning your actions."

cw the terrible roadtrip™ part 2/2, bkg does not get better (in fact it feels worse). classic everyone-has-to-bathe-in-the-river scene, a touch of pining. depictions of suspense/panic, the first earnest attempt on your life 3.8k

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Days pass more peacefully than not as the journey progresses. This is the farthest you’ve ever been from the castle and with every unfamiliar step you’re more and more thankful you aren’t permitted a seat in the carriage. Delicate, blue, quilted, or otherwise, carriage rides are stifling and remind you too much of blood.

The prince seems to hate carriages as much as you do because since the morning of the second day, he’s taken it upon himself to climb from the carriage window as it bumps and jitters along the road and hoist his body onto the small flat roof where he lays for hours sending up pale fireworks. He doesn’t speak or grumble or punch up there. There’s no bitching, as Aizawa would say and so no one tries very hard to stop him. There are no fiery tantrums when your little caravan has to stop for Mina’s fourth bathroom break of the afternoon, or when Sero has to hold Denki out the window to stave off motion sickness. The prince just runs sparks through his hands paying little, if any, attention to his friends or chaperones.

Your hips are numb now and well-worn, so there’s not much else to focus on except for His Highness idling on the carriage in front of you. He refused to change into the riding clothes provided, so his white furs and long red cape are the only vestiges of home for miles and they ground you in pride. His royal jewelry, red and gold, catch the light distractingly. Laying still and quiet like this, a stranger could be forgiven for thinking the fair prince was actually docile.

Images of a younger, wider-eyed royal pitter patter through your memory for a second, which you try to dislodge with a subtle shake of your head. Your earrings stir delicately against your face and you’re reminded of home again.

On the carriage ahead the prince raises his arm now to the sky and flickers of white and purple jump between his thick scarred fingers. His hands are heavy. They’re worn from a childhood full of trial and error in honing his parent’s magic. The spark he balances on his skin grows from an ember to a star so he rolls onto his knees to feed it with both hands. In seconds, it puckers and sputters between his palms in a new vibrancy, and green smoke winds up like lace across his cheeks.

It’s beautiful. You want to tell the destructive prince that his magic “is so beautiful.”

“Of course you’d think that,” he clears his throat with the words without even looking your way and it becomes suddenly obvious that you’ve spoken– all you dreamed of saying– out loud.

You readjust stiffly on your horse, “Highness I–”

“You’d be dazzled if I took a dump on the carriage.” His voice is thunder, and it’s more and more apparent to you that your prince must be dying of boredom.

“What’re you here for?”

“Her Majesty sent me. For protection.”

He doesn’t quite look at you as much as he glances in your general direction. That red cape of his twists across his chest in the breeze while he lingers on the outline of your horse. “What could you protect me from huh? The fucking bugs?” Thunder and lightning now, “You gonna lance the mosquitoes before they land a fatal blow?”

“It’s a halberd, Highness. And yes, if you’d like me to I can keep the bugs away.”

He makes strikingly angry eye contact with you just once, just a blink from carriage to saddle, and it’s obvious you’ve said something wrong. Wordplay isn’t your strength. Whit and whim don’t flow like water for you the way they do the queen, but she often pulls you into meetings or seeks you out on post with quandaries because your honesty entertains her. You think– you hope. You hope the prince is like her in that sense, but he only sucks his teeth and turns away from you.

Hours pass, then a day, then two, and you’re so far from the comfort of familiar autumnal forests that you start to lose track of yourself.

“I’m starving!” Denki whines, and you realize you are too. Kirishima and the prince are all too excited to dive into the trees for a chance to stretch and hunt, so much so that they’re already out of earshot by the time you’ve stepped out of your saddle. Aizawa assures you they’ll be fine and in just a few hours the entire camp is shrieking over ghost stories and roast turkey.

“I’m exhausted!” Sero yawns and kicks the largest burning log to bring down the brightness of the fire. It takes sudden darkness to realize that you’re exhausted too. In the morning you pick apart fresh fish a la Kirishima and Mina jumps at the opportunity for a bath. “I stink!” she laments, and you realize so do you. So at Aizawa’s instruction the caravan sets up camp beside the river and everyone but you races to dive into the icy cold for as long as they can stand. Even the prince seems eager for a break and starts unclasping his earrings on his way down through the trees.

The water is just over the flat ridge where Shinsou and his mentor park the carriage. While the three of you untack horses and otherwise set up camp for the evening, Aizawa continuously fiddles with his long hair muttering, “It really is time for a bath.” He calls your name, and Shinsou’s, and you look briefly up from where you’re unbuckling your saddle’s makeshift scabbard and tying your halberd to your back.

“You two join the others– go wash. I’ll finish camp.” And you can’t help but think Master Aizawa is much softer than he lets on.

Maybe he’s feeling festive at the thought of today being the last full day of travel. He hasn’t told the rest of your western company yet, but Takoba and the sea are only a few miles beyond the break of the forest, which is only a few miles away from where you’re standing now. “The city gates close at sundown, so it’s just as well that you all have a swim and we rest here tonight.”

You’re not too keen on bathing with everyone, but at the very least you are your prince’s keeper.

One more day to Takoba Castle, you chant in your head and imagine just what the city might look like. You’ve studied all the kingdoms on the continent of course, suffering through years of Jeanist’s compulsatory tutelage, but all you really know about Takoba is its royal lineage and basic strategic positioning; it’s a castle on the sea.

At the river, a party is well-underway where Mina has a horribly bashful Kirishima boxed in on a rock between her bare thighs, squealing “You reek little huntsman!” while she washes his back.

Denki and Sero manage a bit more modesty in the deep water of the bend, and Shinsou wades down near the bank with his tunic already up and coming over his head. The sun’s still warm this time of year, warm enough to bathe outside, but the wind is ready for winter. Every time a breeze slips through the trees a collective howl goes up from your wet company scattered along the riverbed. You stand guard next to the beaten path by the bank and watch the group splash happily.

“Get in Bakugou!”

The prince is the only one still dry, only a few steps away from you, taking his time removing his jewelry. He sets it all on one of the large sun rocks and then unlaces his vest with nimble fingers. Those same fingers thumb open the buckle of his belt with a flick, and his boots go next, then his– oh– he’s closer than you realize and he throws his bundled cape into your chest before turning, and growling, to his friends.

“fuckin’ coming, leave me be.”

The water ripples around his bare ankles. A few more steps and he’s already ducking his ash blond head underwater.

“C’mon sweaty, I know you’re the worst outta the bunch of us!”

“I said fuck off!”

It’s funny the way the prince interacts with his friends. It’s no different than you’ve ever known him, but while you fiddle with his cape and watch the scene ahead, you think about the fact that you only really ever see him alone. He and Kirishima are brothers, family sure, and you see him interact with his actual family members all the time but you’ve never really thought about the prince having friends. All these people who choose to love him. All you know about him you’ve heard from the queen, or seen through a crack in the library doors when the two of you are supposed to be sleeping.

His back tenses with the cold air and cold water so you can see the muscles clearly there while he smooths down wet hair, or when he flexes palm over bicep in a stretch after coming up for air. His shoulders shift like sculptures and they’re sharp, unlike sweet Kirishima whose whole body is strong but soft. Bakugou grew like jagged lighting. He was only just a scrawny boy, and now the milky gold of his thighs ripples with fat muscle like a jungle cat. His waist, dramatic, his boxy hands always itching to be fists. You’d laugh if you were less focused, at just how angry Bakugou still looks even when his back is turned.

“Y/n!” Denki has his hands cupped around his mouth, “You too!”

You too what? The prince’s cape spills from your arms when you’re, a bit overwhelmingly, brought back to reality and you hurry to scoop the bundle back up before it can touch the ground. Now the lot of them are hollering at you, “it’s not that cold,” and, “yes it is!” and, “I’ll wash your back!”

You’re still doubled over when you shout back, “I’ll wash later!” half to the dirt, and, “I must remain at my post.” So you can’t be blamed for your surprise at the prince’s advancing glare when you stand back up again.

He’s already clean and completely out of the water and moving toward you quickly enough that your instinct is to draw your halberd from your back. So much so that you hesitate to make any other movements. His shaggy blond hair lays wet and pushed straight back away from his face in a style Jeanist always says, “looks quite handsome” (and then will lament about for the rest of the day when it inevitably dries straight up in every direction) and for as many seconds as it takes for him to reach you, you think that Jeanist is right.

“Oi!”

What happened to him you wonder, to make him so abrasive?

“C’mon you creep, stand at fucking attention.”

Prince Bakugou snatches his cape back from your still-processing hands as you look up, up, up from his dripping chest to his clenched neck and stop decidedly on those glassy red eyes to avoid having to look anywhere lower. He really does resemble his parents so much it’s almost confusing to hear such a bitter voice barking out orders to you. Behind him in the river, Kirishima and Mina watch with worry.

The prince holds your stare this time, no bristling or darting. He pins the cape like a cloak across his body and jerks his head closer to yours– your– your bad habit takes over and the only thing you can do is look at him.

“You’ve been nothin but eyes this whole fucking trip– got any idea who you’re staring at?”

Of course you do. Unmarred skin, long light eyelashes, a sweet caramel musk– what is he saying? He’s picking a fight. Look away, look away. Your eyes go wide for one more single second, one more second inches away from hot red hatred, and you drop your head.

“My deepest apologies, Your Highness.”

Though he’s already done, gone and shouldering past you, back up the bank to collect his finery from the rocks. He bathes quickly.

You’re not particularly quick to wash in the evening. Your companions return to the camp without much more fuss about your joining them after the prince leaves and the mood dampens. Mina doesn’t shriek or holler or dance her way warm again. The boys don’t have stories to tell. The prince soaks up the last few sun rays reading a book atop the carriage and all is quiet.

You carry on with evening tasks, although brushing your horse’s soft white mane is much more enticing right now than approaching the carriage for day’s-end checks. Dinner supplies are assembled from the last few ration items. Laundry is a desperate state of affairs and it’s palpable just how excited everyone is to arrive at Takoba in the morning even if they aren’t bursting at the seams to tell you about it.

Aizawa is the only one that doesn’t seem to be acting much differently considering he’s always too exhausted for much of a personality.

He’s spent the afternoon mending a tear in his saddle and trying unsuccessfully to keep his long hair tied away from his face so when he leaves his project to speak with you across camp, the lack of frustration in his voice is a kind surprise.

“Go on.” His words are gentle, “They’re safe with me and the sun will set soon.” He gestures towards the edge of the ridge and the river beyond it, which at this point seems more cold than its worth. But glancing back at the camp, Kirishima and Shinsou building a fire, Denki peeling apples– the general silence– is less appealing than even pneumonia. You dip your head in thanks.

You’re careful not to wet your hair when you sink into the miserable water, and risk getting sick while on duty. Your survival instincts scream to you that wet hair is the least of your concerns considering the shock of cold that is the river without sunlight. Now you realize why the prince made such quick work of washing himself. Mina is inhuman to have swam for so long. With your riding clothes laid out on the shore you slip into the silty water up to your knees, then to your bare hips, until you’re squatting as deep as you can manage right below the ribs.

The sun is long set behind trees and so you wash in the dark, naked and cold as you’ve ever been in your life, in the autumnal river below camp. The light of Kirishima’s fire crests over the lip of the ridge and carries soft voices along with its glow. Some good nights, and a laugh. Probably the redhead’s. His voice is soft and commanding, but the faint chatter and whispers you hear from the others are distant and otherworldly and you feel all the more naked when you eye Jeanist’s halberd quite out of reach on the shore. Quiet voices don’t sound like ghosts in the castle, only in the woods.

You bring the water with cupped hands to new skin stiffening, and miss soap. And miss beds and Jeanist, and the queen. She has so much hope for your future with her son and it’s unbearably ironic that the first mission you’re responsible for is the one where he’s realized he hates you. You try to picture Takoba again, having never seen the sea.

Instead of thinking about the prince you think of seashell spires sticking out of the sand. Fifty stories and filled with castle staff dressed all in seafoam lace. What else looks like the sea? Pearls dotting the city walls that Aizawa said were so close– and soft glass for the sentinel’s swords instead of steel. The eastern queen and her children must bathe like mermaids in warm sea water; rivers and streams are always cold and running but the sea is so big, it must be warm. It must be still. Now you’re thinking of baths. And of home and bread, and the library and the prince who hates you–

There’s a crunch from the brush.

You’re leagues faster than quick in pulling yourself ashore silently and slinging your tunic over your wet chest.

“This horrible fucking forest–” What was first a faint sound becomes a voice and it’s clearly the prince grumbling, “–Takoba’s such a shitshow.” As counterintuitive as it seems, his growl is a comfort that keeps you from reaching any farther for your weapon. Kirishima’s comes next,

“You’re just cranky.”

You close your eyes in relief once you’re positive the only thing you hear is the two of them. They’re wandering around the ridge, not close enough for you to see them from where you’re pulling on your pants, but close enough to follow the conversation. You carefully hook your earrings back into your ears when you’ve settled enough to collect your belongings and continue to listen.

It’s very rude to raise your voice in the woods, so the prince stops short of howling in his anger, “They’re gonna dress me up like a dumbfuck puppet! I hate–”

“Katsuki, it’s just some earrings, they’re not–”

“– those fucking seagulls are gonna eat this up! First they find me new jewelry, then I need new boots, then my cloak is too worn– I’ll kill them.”

“I’ve never heard anyone complain as much as you do about getting new clothes.”

There’s a rustle and you swear it’s coming from the opposite direction of camp. Then the sound of stifled sputtering anger, accompanying laughter, and their conversation continues above. With Jeanist’s halberd secured on your back, you lace up your shoes.

“You shoulda beat me to Takoba, old man.”

You startle but don’t scream when the new voice announces itself so clearly. Instead you rally your polearm to attention and crouch with your back to the steep rocky ridge. Don’t announce yourself. Your job isn’t honor, it’s guerrilla warfare.

“Not even a hello?”

“Be careful Ei, the brambles–”

“No hug for your favorite student?”

“Kats wait, ow!”

“No love for an alum?”

The Prince and the Champion’s voices are just far away enough that they compete with the new one for your attention. You have to be able to hear if they’re safe. You have to make it back to camp. A hum rolls over the babble of the water now. The voice sounds like it’s coming from everywhere. Beside you and across the river all at once. There’s no sound of splashing or of twigs snapping. It’s a ghost moving closer and farther from you through the breeze.

“Should I give you a head start?”

The husky drawl mingles with the prince barking distantly from above and sends a chill through your heels into the Earth. Like someone whispering directly in one ear and a cold breeze blowing out the other. Bakugou is too far to hear any warning calls you might shout to him. Without that incentive, shouting would only reveal your identity and give away your position; you have to get back up to camp. There’s a moment of silence and then a disturbance in the tree branches hanging above the river.

“You’re not Aizawa.”

Above and unseen, the boys give up on their search.

“We’ll find your earrings, Katsuki, don’t worry. Tomorrow, when the sun comes up.”

“Where the fuck are they?”

“Probably dropped ‘em when you threw your clothes at Y/n like some unkempt woodland creature.”

The prince stifles a laugh so that his friend doesn’t get encouraged, but Kirishima, never one to rely on social cues, dives in.

“If I may–”

“You may not,” Bakugou bites. He hikes his cape a bit higher to feign chill and turns back toward center camp, resigning himself to play dress-up once they reach Takoba. Kirishima trails him through the underbrush back to the clearing. It’s peaceful at camp among friends before you erupt onto the scene.

Shinsou shoos a firefly from Denki’s sleeping cheek, and the outline of a bundled Master Aizawa rises and falls with deep breath beside the carriage. Next to Sero, Mina is tucked under a blanket on her bedroll, lulling herself to sleep watching the dance of the small fire. Wide empty eyes. Prince Bakugou has his cape wrapped tightly around broad shoulders while he hums and haws some complaint in Kirishima’s direction. He fingers his empty earlobes while he talks. 

When you burst through the branches of the willow tree, the group abandons all decorum at your, “Highness!”

The prince jerks around to face you with a hand on his sword and Shinsou is similarly armed in seconds behind him. The travelers jolt up with adrenaline and much farther away, in a dark part of camp, Aizawa has already drawn his bow. His eyes train on the shadows through the trees.

“Wers and mers, Y/n! What in th–” Kirishima startles and accidentally bats the irons above the fire with the kettle he’s using to boil water. The metal thrum rings over the clearing and resets the silence as you back up against the prince. He’s still looking around over your head.

“There’s a man in the trees, Highness, he’s looking for Aizawa. Please return to the carr–”

“I’m in just the mood for a bandit.”

“Highness now is not–”

The whistle of something moving too fast sings through the trees and you reach across your body without the privilege of planning your actions.

Your back presses into the prince’s chest and you draw his sword from his hip with only enough time to let out a ferocious grunt and slice the air in an arc in front of you.

An apple connects with the swing of the sword, from wherever in the distant dark woods it was thrown, and erupts wet across your face and thighs as you cleave it down the middle. Making sure to keep the prince directly between your shoulders, the halves fly limply to either side of your bodies and the clearing is quiet again.

The prince’s breath is hot so close to the back of your neck and Kirishima’s features look sharper in the firelight now. Mina has barely moved from her bedroll, “I don’t understand. Y/n what–”

It’s coming.

“Kiri!” You try to shout warnings just in time for the apple halves to burst into white-hot flame on the ground, and then the prince jerks his arms in front of you. A little ways below your dragontooth, Bakugou’s palm is pressed flat against your ribcage like a shield and just a hair’s breadth from it, his other hand has caught an arrow in its fist. An arrow that, in a blink, erupts into a ball of bright blue fire.

“Aizawa!”

“Aizawa?”

The first voice is Shinsou’s and it’s full of worry. The second is the ghost’s and he’s smiling. You can hear it.

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#that white white caucasian hand in the banner is NOT yours #(unless you would like it to be) #it's meant to be the queen's #do not fret poc readers #i would never do you so dirty #FINALLY the plot begins #i cant wait for next week's chapter😈 #bakugou x reader #a hymn to black water #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #bakugo x reader #mha fantasy au #bnha fantasy au #fantasy bakugou #fantasy bakugo

[lexiepiper]

Strange Relations

Hey @five-rivers happy truce! Sorry for being a little bit late, life got crazy.

I combined two of your prompts - Prompt 2: Clockwork gets sick of how Jack and Maddie treat Danny and spirits him away. Jack and Maddie must prove to Clockwork that they'll do better by completing his challenges. Whether or not they succeed is up to you. Prompt 4: Soft and cozy body horror. Lots of tactile texture and gentleness. Positive ending. :)

I hope you enjoy it! I’m a big fan of a lot of your writing and so tried to embody your masterful grasp of the abstract and eldritch, with a few references to some of the different elements/versions of Danny I’ve seen in your works.

The fic can be read here on ao3, or in this tumblr post.

...

Time is a mortal construct. At least, the understanding of its measurement is. For Clockwork, the markers of its passage were far less significant. What care did he need to have for weekdays, or hours, or the amount of revolutions around the sun?

He measured by different means.

How long it took for his endangered plants to sprout, grow tall, and flower or bear fruit.

The stretching eddies of dynasties rising and falling, and the outward-extending ramifications throughout the history of humankind.

The slow, awful rhythms of celestial bodies that he could barely parse even after aeons of watching the universe unfold in their rippling influences.

Mostly, he measured his time through the things he observed. Once he interacted with something it became difficult to ascertain its final path — like ripples obscuring the bottom of a small pond if you tried to put your hand into the water. The image only stayed clear so long as he refrained from touching it.

That being said, it was another regular morning when Daniel Fenton’s parents shot him out of the sky for the one hundredth time. A Tuesday, if anybody was keeping track.

Clockwork measured time by things that piqued his interest. Patterns, irregularities, and notable things in between that brought him any sense of emotion beyond simple detached interest.

So, he noticed, and he cared. He cared enough to burn.

One hundred times.

He burned hot with anger, his core flaring with a fire that he’d forgotten he harboured, and Clockwork was no longer able to hold himself back from plunging his hand into the pond despite all of the restrictions and regulations that normally kept him in his place.

The parade vanished, his vision of the future clouded, and within a mere selection of months, Clockwork found himself on the cusp of crossing the threshold of one of the only spaces beyond the time stream.

The place had many names, as did its denizens. There was no true way to define them, and perhaps that was the point of it all. The building changed depending on the perspective from which one tried to take it in, its architecture shifting from angle to angle. One moment it seemed as though it was a drab twentieth-century office with soap-bubble windows and floors that reached into blurry uncertainty. Then the building shifted, almost imperceptibly, and its peeling brick facade melted into the carved columns of an ancient Greek pantheon, complete with a sprawling copse of ancient olive trees that quietly creaked as ghosts moved between them. A moment later, and it was a connected city of tents strung with colourful banners that fluttered in a nonexistent breeze, flaps propped open with sticks with seemingly no coherent system that could be discerned by the outside observer.

Clockwork drifted across an invisible barrier and it ruffled his essence like the sudden breath of air conditioning one felt when entering a supermarket on a hot day.

The tent city’s trampled grass shifted to polished tiles, smooth beneath Clockwork’s boots as his core sank into dormancy and bade him land. The lack of ability was discomfiting but he shook it off and walked purposefully to the revolving doors of a great glass skyscraper, his cloak drifting around his ankles pleasantly with the sudden gravitational assertion over his typically-spectral body.

Being forced into a single form was more unpleasant even than the temporary binding of his powers, but Clockwork spared at least a sliver of gratitude that his default was that of an adult that appeared to be roughly in his thirties. If he were a child or an old man, it might damage his chances, depending on the test that the council ended up choosing.

The door spun on its center pole as he approached, its glass panes flashing in the light of a swarm of tiny blob ghosts that flitted around its interior segments. Their cores, like those of the denizens of this zone, were unfettered, as they were not here with a petition for review. It was a relief to see them, enjoying the neutral safe space and clearly having fun as they bounced around the entryway with glee.

Their purity reminded him of the severity of his purpose here, and as he stepped into a gleaming glass lobby that shifted into a sun-washed garden an approximation of a secretary rose from the path in front of him. It was faceless and blank, and Clockwork stood still as it passed an appendage that might have been a hand over the clock casing embedded in his chest.

The being didn’t speak, but he understood nonetheless when it confirmed his identity as applicant Clockwork the Timekeeper.

The pleasant sound of running water deeper into the garden paused for a moment, and the intermingled murmur of voices and birdsong went quiet. He figured that it wasn’t every day that someone as consequential as himself came here, but he shrugged off the feeling of being observed. The lull was only brief, and ambient noise resumed before Clockwork could do more than wonder yet again if he’d chosen the correct course.

The wondering, in and of itself, was nothing new. As soon as he’d reached through his viewing screen to scoop up a bleeding Daniel his vision had clouded, and since then, he’d done nothing but wonder.

He could have tried to just keep the boy, to adopt him by force and never let him go back to the life and people who were so horrible to him, but as he followed the secretary down a path through verdant twelve-foot ferns dappled with sunlight and filled with flashes of jewelled dragonflies, Clockwork’s doubts faded. He reminded himself that by surrendering Daniel to the protective grasp of the impartial council while taking the time to go through all of the proper applications, nobody would be able to dispute his relationship with the child on the other side. It was the only way to make Daniel permanently, irrevocably his, and despite his current inability to see the outcome for himself, Clockwork knew that there was no way he would fail the test.

The path ended abruptly in a freestanding stone door, ornately decorated with a mosaic fresco of towering creatures that Clockwork didn’t recognise from any reality that he was privy to observing. It swung open soundlessly as he approached, and beyond its threshold stretched an unremarkable hallway. The paint was yellow with either age or poor lighting, or perhaps a combination of the two, and the floor was worn threadbare carpet that might have once been a colour but was now more of a faded light brown.

There were no doors or windows, and when Clockwork stepped onto the carpet the guide shut the freestanding door behind them, cutting off the light and sounds of the garden. He didn’t need to breathe, but the mustiness of the corridor stuck to his throat anyway, and he followed wordlessly when his guide kept moving.

It took several minutes for them to reach another door. This one matched the hallway they were in, being remarkably plain with a little brass plaque at head height.

He couldn’t read the language, but entered anyway when motioned to do so.

The guide didn’t follow, and the door clicked shut behind him as Clockwork blinked in the warm light that spilled through a large window. The room seemed to be a small office, but it was homely, with abstract artwork on the wall and nice armchairs both in front of and behind the desk.

The person sitting at the desk was also faceless, but unlike the neutral tones of the secretary, it was wearing flowing fabric that shimmered between cool tones with each small movement.

It gestured to one of the armchairs and Clockwork sat, feeling as welcomed as he would have by a smile and friendly words. It would have been rude to speak when his host did not, so he stayed quiet and exuded his own pleasantries nonverbally, as some ghosts were wont to do. It seemed to be the right move, because the person nodded and Clockwork sensed its warm appreciation.

It opened a drawer and produced a slim file, sliding it across the desk to rest in front of him, and Clockwork recognised the paperwork that he had so painstakingly filled out over the past several months. The registration and application process had been long and arduous, and Daniel had been kept from all interested parties for the duration. He’d been kept here, in fact, but Clockwork knew that he had no hope of interacting with the boy before the petition trial was complete.

He skimmed through the papers, noting the extra stamp at the end of each page. The final page had a line to sign, and when he glanced up at the faceless being it beckoned for him to hold out his hand.

He did so, and it drew off his glove, exposing the pale blue flesh of Clockwork’s palm. With a sharp swipe a letter opener flashed across his hand and green ectoplasm welled in its wake, and Clockwork allowed his hand to be tilted so that a few drops fell onto the paper just above the line. It soaked in until it disappeared, leaving the white parchment spotless, and then Clockwork’s name etched itself out in flowing green script.

The person nodded approvingly and offered a strip of plain white cloth, which Clockwork allowed it to use to bandage his bleeding hand. Usually such a trifle wouldn’t be an issue, with the power to simply shift time around the wound and immediately heal, but with his abilities bound by this interdimensional space he would have to make do with the far more mundane option.

He reclaimed his glove but tucked it into his belt when the person shook its head at his attempt to put it back on. The bandage on his hand stood out starkly against the dark tones of his clothing, and he realised that it was a badge of honour, signifying that he’d come far enough to be considered a candidate for the judgement.

The being shuffled the papers back into order and rose from its chair, tilting its head in an unspoken request to follow when it moved towards the door. Clockwork complied, and when it opened he was not faced with the same hallway that he’d walked down before, but a large atrium filled with silver light that spilled through a delicately domed glass ceiling.

They entered on one of the upper levels that hugged the round wall of the space. It was a narrow walkway that led to individual evenly-spaced boxes, each holding a single seat. They called to mind witness boxes, although the chairs were carved from the same marble as the walls and floors, and inlaid with plush green velvet.

The lower level of the room was blocked from view by a shimmering barrier of black smoke that sparkled as though filled with stars. Clockwork watched it as he walked, and it drifted with the slow, soothing movements of gentle eddies. He looked up again once they reached the nearest box, and allowed himself to be ushered into the seat. It was even softer than it looked, and once he sat the same starry mist rose around him and cut off all sight.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to wait long, but quieted any irritation at the delay. Time was nothing, after all. He just needed to win the case for custody of Daniel, and then there would be all of the time in the universe, both known and unknown.

He comforted himself with that knowledge, and whiled away the waiting by planning the things that he’d do once he took Daniel home. It was a topic that had become a favourite among his daydreams, and he’d already prepared a room that was draped in constellations and held all of the comforts that the boy could possibly want. Beyond that, he’d already begun to make changes to Long Now. The clock tower, while perfect for Clockwork alone, was not conducive to the rounded development of a child’s core. As he’d laboured through the application process, Clockwork had changed much, working on making shared spaces like the kitchen and garden habitable for a halfa, and private spaces, such as his own viewing room, at least safe for Daniel to spend time in should the opportunity arise. After all, children always ended up where one least expected them to be able to reach.

His ability to sense time was unavailable here, but Clockwork still felt that his wait stretched for longer than was comfortable. He resisted the urge to leave his seat for a stretch, since technically he didn’t need one. This may be a part of the process itself, determining if he possessed the necessary patience to nurture a wilful creature such as Daniel.

Some time later, the smoke around him thinned, then dissolved in a breath of cool air. Clockwork blinked in the silver light, realising that since he had sat down he had been unable to hear anything aside from the small chimes and noises of his own internal rhythms. Now, he recognised the low murmur of voices in a tongue he couldn’t comprehend, and when he glanced down toward the noise he saw a platform jutting from the wall just above the cloudy barrier that was still in place below. It was crammed with figures that blurred Clockwork’s vision, and whenever he tried to focus on a single detail all others slipped into fuzziness until he could no longer recall anything.

These must be members of the infamous council, removed from the affairs of the infinite realms and truly impartial in every meaning of the term. They stood only for justice and harmony, maintaining delicate balances and judging only the most significant cases across realities.

Clockwork glanced up at the giant moon through the window, the source of the brilliant silver light. It was peppered with craters not dissimilar to Earth’s, likely to help put Daniel at ease with what he would be going through right now, and stars blazed in the cosmos that outlined the moon in a thin band between its edge and the round windowpane.

The same smoke that had shrouded him also drifted around the other boxes, which had been empty when he had first entered the atrium, and Clockwork tried not to show interest as it began to thin and reveal the people within.

Of course, Vladimir Masters would have been one to request inclusion as a candidate. He sat smugly in his space in the full ghastly splendour of his ghost form, and as his shroud dissolved into nothing he smirked at the other candidates before looking at Clockwork with a clearly confused lack of recognition.

The sight of the other two candidates, each in their own individual boxes, struck Clockwork’s soul like a flint, setting loose a spark of anger that he fought to keep from showing on his face. He forced himself to relax his shoulders and keep his hands loose in his lap, resisting the urge to grind his teeth as Madeline and Jack Fenton looked around. Their expressions were slack with awe, mouths open and eyes wide as they gazed at the surrounding splendour which they should have never had a right to witness.

He tamped down on the unruly emotion, reminding himself that each of them had a solid claim on Daniel, and that this was the only fair way to determine true rights to parentage. There was nobody else, and he was initially surprised at the lack of Frostbite, considering the level of support that he had provided over the past few years. He wondered if the relationship was less one of parentage and more one of worship and awe that blended into camaraderie, but brushed off any suppositions before they could colour his perception. Conjecture was useless right now, and he knew that he’d be able to piece things together later, once his powers were restored.

Madeline opened her mouth and clearly called for her husband, but no sound left her lips. Her brow pinched in building panic, and she tried again, with the same result. Vladimir waved a hand and her attention snapped to him, her panic melting into something harder and more accusatory as he shook his head and pressed his fingers to the hollow in his own throat.

Clockwork wondered at the display. Surely they’d been briefed as to the rules of the trial, including the inability to communicate verbally once it had commenced so that they would not be able to distract Daniel or each other throughout the process. Now that he saw who he was competing with for custody he wondered if this safeguard was to also arrest any untoward exchanges between ghosts and hunters.

A soft chime rang through the atrium, and all four of them looked down at the group of assembled judges. The speech in the unknown tongue had stopped, and they were gathered in a perfect line along their platform, watching silently. One rose from the middle of the line, floating into the centre of the room and nodding to each of the applicants in turn. You each hold claim to Daniel James Fenton Phantom as your child, a genderless voice whispered inside Clockwork’s mind, and each of you in turn has passed the preliminary application process when you were informed of the request for a custody ruling. This trial will determine which, if any, of you can recognise his deepest needs and see beyond your own ideals to accept who he truly is.

Out of the children below, all of them are the one to which you lay claim. You will see all stages of his becoming as individual persons. To pass this trial, you must understand him deeply enough to know which form is his final one, and offer a contrite and willing heart to heal his hurts and nurture him as he truly requires.

Take as long as you need, and from this moment, you will not be able to meet each other’s eyes or share any information that you may glean with other candidates.

May balance and justice be restored.

A stillness settled over Clockwork’s soul, all anger and irritation at his competition melting away as the chime sounded again and the judge returned to their spot in the line. The barrier of mist dispersed, revealing a round open space below them. There was a plush green carpet scattered with white pillows and blankets, and dozens of children were strewn amongst the softness.

Each one of them was Daniel, in varying stages of being and becoming.

Clockwork glimpsed a flash of pain on Jack Fenton’s face before his vision tunnelled, and then he could see nothing but the children bathed in silver light.

Daniel lay on a large floor cushion, breathing heavily as smoke coiled from his singed hair and clothing. His fresh lichtenberg scar pulsed an angry, deadly green, visible even through the suit that his parents had so lovingly custom made, unaware that it would become his funerary shroud. His uninjured hand lay over his heart as he panted, eyes closed, pain clear in his furrowed brows and gritted teeth.

The echo of black bones was barely there, but when he sucked in another breath one could glimpse deep, dark eye sockets and a jawline like a smudge of charcoal beneath semi-translucent skin that held the blue pall of death.

It was hardly his truest form, but still, the moment of his death was difficult to see.

Clockwork caught his cheek between his teeth and looked at the others.

One Daniel held himself like a superhero, hands on his hips and his shoulders thrown back with a jaunty smile on his face. His hair and white cape rustled in a nonexistent wind and he just… stood there, suspended in a snapshot of time.

Nearby slept the featureless figure of a child bathed in the fabric of the night sky, every inch of skin liquid with a flowing firmament that dripped and swirled with the rise and fall of his small, fragile chest. He stirred but did not wake, murmuring wordless nonsense sounds of contentment from whatever dreamland had claimed him. He was laying on one of the white blankets with his head resting on a folded arm, and another blanket pooled around his lower half, giving the impression of the night sky glimpsed through a gap between clouds.

As Clockwork watched, the stars and galaxies on his skin of liquid darkness bloomed into brilliant nebulae and sank into spirals that grew ever brighter as they dropped into cores of black holes, and it was as though he were watching the entire unfolding of a universe contained within a single person.

Beyond, there was commotion. Daniel’s wings were coming in, and he shivered as plumes of feathers overtook him in sprays that created layer upon layer of new appendages. There was an aborted noise, as though he tried to cry out, but then that dissolved into gentle bell-like chimes that slowly smoothed into a calmer cadence. The darkness in his hair and clothing were quickly overcome, melting away into more and more soft fluff until he was nothing more than a mass of glowing white feathers and wings draped with silken fabric. The child hovered momentarily, as though uncertain, before shivering again and fluttering over to sink into a pile of pillows and blankets that had been arranged to resemble a nest, perfectly sized for this new form.

Yet another Daniel was also changing, splitting beyond his skin until the husk of a body disintegrated into nothing and released a cloud of lime green essence that roiled and foamed until it dripped down into the gelatinous shape of a blob ghost. It peered around with wide green eyes devoid of whites or pupils, quivering but not yet able to take any greater form. When nothing else seemed to happen it began to fly around the room, moving frantically at first like a trapped bird, but slowly settling into a more leisurely pace once the shock of the change wore off and it found no way to leave.

There were many more, a few scores at least, and Clockwork took the time to carefully observe each and every one of them from his vantage point high up on the wall. While many seemed initially confused or distressed, and some even pained, they all slowly drifted into various stages of calm restfulness. One factor that linked each child was a note of softness, whether overt like the feathered shape or the space child, or more subdued, like the smudged bones and gentle smoke of Daniel’s first ghostly iteration, or the way that some of the harsher forms blurred into wisps at the edges, as though unfinished.

This was, after all, a distillation of essence. They were all Daniel, but only one of them was what he became when purified down into his truest form. Clockwork just needed to put aside any latent bias he might still hold, and look for the version that embodied Daniel at his most honest self.

There was one that caught Clockwork’s attention, sitting on a floor cushion with his head tilted up to watch the moon beyond the domed glass ceiling. His eyes were voids of darkness swathed with stars, and his slender body drifted like smoke when he moved to adjust his position.

He was clothed in a loose starry shirt that frayed at the edges into a pattern of Amity Park’s skyline lit with street lights and suburban buildings, but when he moved again the hemline morphed into an imitation of the swirling eddies of the ghost zone.

His death scar faded the longer he looked up at the sky until it was nothing more than the barest impression of a shadow on his skin, and stress lines smoothed away from his face as his mouth curved into a soft smile. He was wearing plain dark pants, form-fitting but clearly comfortable, and his feet were bare, toes curling in the thick green carpet as though it were grass. There were frost flowers in his hair and the stars in his eyes glinted blue and green as he stared straight to the heavens.

This child was equal parts incorporeal and solid, his past painful traumas clear but exactly that: in the past. His frame was so small and appeared frail in comparison to many of the others, but his aura shone beyond his boundaries with a soft, steady glow. Clockwork sensed a childlike curiosity that had not been present in the others, clear with a desire to drink in the knowledge of the universe in a safe environment at his own pace.

He shook himself when he realised that he’d been staring at this child for far longer than the rest. This version of Daniel was everything that Clockwork wanted for him, but just as he prepared to make his choice, he paused.

Was this truly Daniel, or simply the Daniel that he wished for? This was a test, after all. Each candidate must see a version that embodied what they desired the most in a child.

No, the true question here was which form embodied what Daniel most desired.

Clockwork looked again, carefully examining each version of the child he hoped to adopt. He would only get one chance at this, and if he failed, he would not be permitted to see Daniel again. He had to get this right.

He surveyed the room several more times, and each time, he was drawn back to the one staring up at the sky. Slowly, as he eliminated each other version as possibly being Daniel’s true self, he realised that perhaps the reason that he was so drawn to the peaceful, inquisitive, happy person who seemed to truly embody the balance between life and death was because this was the way things were meant to be. Clockwork knew Daniel as well as he knew himself, and he knew when he recognised the essence of the child that belonged in the safety of his care.

He made his decision, clasping his hands and leaning back in his seat. His vision cleared as he did so and restored his view of the rest of the room, revealing again the line of impassive, featureless judges and the other three people trying to lay their claims in this soul-deep custody battle.

It appeared that Madeline and Vladimir had finished ahead of him, which was expected, given the amount of times Clockwork had reviewed what he saw before choosing his child. They were both looking about the room and occasionally glancing down at the children, but none of their eyes met the other candidates’. Much of the pomp and pride had drained away from both of them, the hard lines of their shoulders and jaws smoothing into something gentler.

He turned away from them and looked back up at the moon. Now that he was removed from the pressure of choice he felt a wash of anguish for the changes that Daniel had clearly gone through, mindful of the pain and confusion he would have felt as he had cycled through those different forms until he had settled into his essence. It chafed, knowing that Clockwork had not been there to comfort him during the different stages of becoming.

Movement from the adjacent box caught his attention and Clockwork glanced over to see Jack Fenton still staring at the assortment of Daniels. Tears freely flowed from puffy red eyes and he wiped his bandaged hand beneath his nose before mouthing Daniel’s nickname. It was both fascinating and satisfying in equal parts, but Clockwork looked away quickly, trying to school himself lest the judges sense anything untoward in his feelings and dismiss his claim on the basis of unacceptable levels of bias. He didn’t know if it was a possibility in this case, but he'd heard of it happening before and didn’t want to take the risk.

Besides, he admitted to himself for the first time, if Jack was here then he clearly showed enough determination to care for Daniel’s needs and right past wrongs to qualify for a claim.

It took a while longer for Jack to make a decision, and Clockwork watched his own preferred child in the interim. The longer he looked the more peaceful he felt, surer with every passing moment that he had made the correct choice.

Eventually Jack leaned back, scrubbing his hands over his drenched cheeks as his shoulders trembled with silent residual sobs.

The dark starry barrier rolled back over the lowest tier, hiding the children from view once more. The judges dissipated into nothing and their platform melted away, leaving a smooth, featureless patch of wall in their wake.

Clockwork turned when something shifted beside him, and a guide who could have been the same one from earlier beckoned for him to leave through a door that materialised in the stretch of wall behind them.

He obeyed, sending one last glance to the people who had dared to challenge his claim to custody as they were similarly ushered away. Madeline frowned when she finally caught his gaze, and he only had a brief moment to wonder what she was thinking before he stepped into an office that mirrored the one in which he had signed the papers, except that the artworks on the walls were hand-painted starscapes interspersed with planets and nebulae that he didn’t recognise.

Through a door on the opposite wall stepped Jack Fenton.

A judge was waiting behind the desk, and motioned for the two of them to sit. Clockwork moved numbly, his mind racing as he took one of the armchairs while Jack collapsed into the other one. The man was still crying, the cuffs of his sleeves and the white bandage around one hand soggy from repeatedly wiping his face.

The judge looked to both of them in turn, the only indication of its shifting focus a subtle turning of the head. Congratulations on your joint custody of Daniel James Fenton Phantom, that same soft not-voice said, slipping between Clockwork’s thoughts. The pre-prepared living space in Long Now has been approved as his new residence, with minor changes required to accommodate the presence of Jack Fenton. No other persons are to interact with your child for the next six months without the approval of this court while he settles into his distilled form, and neither of you will leave him throughout this process.

Neither Vladimir Masters or Madeline Fenton are permitted to interact with your child from this moment on, and any ties they have to his soul or emotions will be severed immediately.

Congratulations on your joint adoption. Daniel has been moved to a comfortable waiting room to rest now that he has completed his initial process of becoming and assigned his parents. A guide will collect you presently. Once you have completed the introductory course in the next room, the two of you are free to collect your child, and return with him to your home.

May balance and justice be forever upheld.

The judge disappeared as a chime rang through the room, clear and true, and Clockwork’s core seized as his ticking clock skipped a beat. The universe shifted around them, and a deep, primal tie to Daniel imprinted itself upon him so firmly that Clockwork’s entire view of existence shifted.

He… he had a child.

Daniel was his child.

And…

Massaging his clock casing, he looked over at Jack Fenton, who was clutching his own chest. His eyes were wide, mouth opening and closing as he seemed to struggle to keep up with what had just happened.

Clockwork swallowed as the tightness that had been in his throat since the trial commenced fell away, and he sighed. The sound was a quiet chime, like a distant grandfather clock in the middle of the night, and then he shifted so that he turned in his seat to more fully face the person who, against all odds, had somehow managed to glimpse the truth of Daniel’s soul enough to gain shared custodial rights.

“Hello, Jack,” he said, surprised at how soft his tone was. Gone was the bite of anger that had been there previously, replaced with the recognition of a person whose goals and parenthood aligned with his own. “I figure that since we’re to share our child, we should at least know each other’s names: I am Clockwork the Timekeeper, longtime mentor and new parent to Daniel. I hope that despite our differences, we can work in harmony to help him become the best version of himself, whatever that may be.”

He smiled, showing just the barest hint of fangs, and Jack baulked for just a moment before visibly gathering himself and taking a deep breath in. “Nice to meet you, Clockwork,” he said, and to his credit, his voice barely trembled, though his eyes were still watery with the threat of further tears. He clearly glanced at the scar over Clockwork’s eye before looking away quickly. “I guess, since Danno’s a halfa, one parent from each side makes some kind of sense, right?”

Clockwork raised an eyebrow. “I never thought of it like that,” he confessed, leaning back in his seat. “And you don’t know it yet, but lack of knowledge is a rarity for me.”

Jack frowned. “So… we’ll be living in this Long Now place?”

“I’m assuming that your profession makes you at least passingly familiar with the concept of lairs,” Clockwork said. “It will be comfortable, and after six months have passed you will be able to come and go as you please. As much as this is unexpected, you’re right — it does make sense.”

Jack swallowed. “So, uh… what now? I feel like I should know more about you, and about Danny.”

“I’ll try to answer your questions, but I expect that someone will come to move us to the introductory program soon.”

He nodded, brow furrowing in thought. “Right, okay then. I’ll just ask a few questions while we wait, since you seem to know a lot more about me than I do about you. Um… uh… okay, I have to know. Do ghosts like fudge?”

He was an all-knowing, powerful being, an embodiment of control of the concept of time itself. Yet, in this tiny office, with his powers bound and with no ability to see the future beyond his own powers of logical deduction, Clockwork never would have guessed in a million years that this would be the first thing that Jack Fenton would ask.

It reminded him so much of Daniel that he couldn’t help but smile. It looked like, no matter how chaotic everything ended up becoming, things were going to work out just fine.

#lexiepiper #holiday truce 2022 #Danny Phantom

[thinkin-bout-milgram]

Mahiru Shiina: Trial 2 Synthesis Theory

Hello everyone! For the “I Love You” drop, I’m just going to jump straight into a full-length theory because I have a LOT that I want to cover and it’s much more comprehensive than my initial thoughts posts usually are. This is partially because all four other admins helped me out, as well as our 6th roommate who isn’t an admin!

As always, I will be using the very fast translation done by @onigiriico, which is linked here! I’ll also be using @iaobug ‘s wonderful translation of Mahiru’s 16 step guide in This Is How To Be In Love With You, which I’ll put here. 

T/W: Suicide, stalking, kidnapping/abduction, toxic relationships, murder, hanging, drowning, malnourishment, force feeding a rat. There WILL be images so please read at your own discretion!

Alright, let’s jump into it!

Mahiru’s murder took place in Aokigahara, AKA the Sea of Trees, AKA the Suicide Forest.

This is based on an initial post by @tomoesan, which has since become unavailable. I’ll post a photo of it here, though:

It compares Mahiru’s murder location on her card from Undercover to a real place in Japan: Aokigahara. From the pictures, it’s very clear that this was an intentional move by the artists to place Mahiru’s murder somewhere actively recognizable through some google searches. I firmly believe that the forest that they move through in the MV is Aokigahara. 

That’s not all, though. From this image, you can pretty clearly see that the photo seems to be taken from inside a cave. We’ve determined this specific cave to be Ryugu Cave, or The Dragon Cave.

This article shows the exact same photo in the earlier post, citing it as being from the Ryugu Cave. 

The Ryugu Cave also contains the Seno Umi Shrine, within it. You can read a bit about it here, but I firmly believe this to be the shrine mentioned on Day 15 of This Is How To Be In Love With You; more on that later.

Furthermore, the shrine is to Toyotama-hime. In mythology, this references a goddess who falls in love with a prince at a water well. However, he breaks a promise not to spy on her, which results in him seeing her in a monstrous form. Given the lyrical translation of daisuki (which should just mean I love you repeatedly) in the chorus to “monstrously in love,” “monstrous cause I love you,” “monstrous dilemma”... I think that the writers absolutely knew what they were going for, and they were giving a nod to this specific story and the shrine, with Mahiru being the lover turned monster.

Based on all of this, and the fact that I do believe Mahiru’s lover committed suicide, I think that all signs point to Aokigahara, specifically Ryugu Cave, being the location of the murder. I’ll be using this assumption throughout the rest of my theory.

I’ll follow along with the guide, starting at Days 1-8.

I think that Mahiru portrays Days 1-8 approximately correctly.

Days 1-7 are, I think, completely correct. Mahiru meets this guy, assumes it’s fate, and does small things to try to get closer to him and get to know about him. At this point, things probably seem completely normal to him, so there wouldn’t be any reason for him to reject her jogging with him or whatever.

Day 8 is when she waits outside his work, takes him to the park and presumably confesses her love to him. This is where her first inconsistency is. 

She says that they talked the night away, but she also says that she “chooses not to believe they talked the night away” and that “it felt like no time passed at all.” She also very notably doesn’t actually say what his response was, though she implied it was positive.

I think that it was actually very short; rather than them talking the night away, he probably swiftly rejected her. This, therefore, ends Mahiru’s attempts to get him into a relationship normally. If he won’t love her the way she wants him to, she’ll find a way to make it happen, no matter what.

Mahiru sets a plan into action, starting Day 9.

This is the first page in her journal where the text switches from normal, pristine rows to slanted text. That’s a sign that something is going wrong.

She mentions that her “boyfriend” is really cute when he’s blackout drunk. I think that it’s possible she drugged him, but even if she didn’t, she used this to get some kind of information. It’s possible she brought him back to his house, getting his address, possibly even stealing keys or something like that. 

I’d theorize that, rather than going here together, she followed him to the bar. Once he was pretty drunk, it’d be a lot easier to convince him to go along with her.

Day 10 is her talking to her beautician; I think that’s all correct. The beautician simply heard about the story through Mahiru’s eyes.

Day 11 is, I think, similar to the bar; she probably followed him to the “date” location. She says it “can’t be a coincidence” their tastes are so similar and that she’s become a different person. That indicates that this isn’t actually a shared taste: he went to the location and she followed him there.

On Day 12, Mahiru abducts her lover.

Day 12 is the day when Mahiru goes to his house for the first time, but somehow, she can’t actually seem to remember anything.

While that alone is suspicious, there’s also the mirror. We can see her beautician in the mirror, so the fact that he isn’t in the mirror at all seems to imply that he isn’t within the camera’s view at all. Why is she in his entryway without him there to greet her?

The answer is that she’s uninvited. She enters his home, and she takes him. That’s what I think the shot of her jumping on the couch spreading the flowers in This Is How To Be In Love With You is:

Rather than this being her killing moment, I think that this is her going in and snatching him from his own house. I firmly believe that Mahiru took him to Aokigahara, and I think that this is when she did it.

The scene in the house with the feathers immediately follows Day 12, so it makes sense chronologically. Additionally, for Day 13 onwards, the text switches from just being slanted to being stitched together from smaller boxes; it seems like it’s mimicking a ransom note that’s patched together from magazine or book clippings. This indicates that this is when Mahiru is more actively committing a crime: in this case, kidnapping. 

Days 13-15 are Mahiru moving the body.

If we assume that Mahiru’s end destination is Ryugu Cave based on earlier research, Days 13, 14 and 15 can be interpreted as movement.

Day 13 may seem strange, given that it’s Mahiru seemingly attending a wedding. However, if you pay careful attention to her phrasing, she does not say that she actually attended. She says that she was invited, and that soon, her dreams will come true. I think it’s possible that the wedding location was closer to Aokigahara–it’s near Mt. Fuji, so I’d imagine there could be some scenic locations or something–and she’s mentally using the wedding as a justification for heading that direction. Maybe she even did attend, if it was over that way.

Day 14 is an outdoor date under the stars. She practically begged him to come along. This is her taking him into the woods. I’m not sure exactly how compliant he was being and if she literally dragged him or if he was in more of a “resisting seems like a bad idea” kind of headspace, but I believe that Day 14 is them arriving at the forest and entering. 

It’s notable that, in the scenes in I Love You, Mahiru seems to be leading her lover into the forest. Here’s a screenshot from around 1:37:

At this point, it doesn’t seem like he’s being forced. However, this ends with him groveling on the ground at 1:55.

Comparing that to the image immediately after, we understand that Mahiru isn’t seeing the situation clearly. Given that he’s in this kneeling position in both shots, I think it’s safe to say that the shots with the golden lighting are the situation through Mahiru’s eyes. 

He’s very clearly actually beaten down and miserable, but Mahiru depicts them as a cute and happy couple. In fact, at 1:20, the lyrics support this interpretation:

This too-perfect image of her relationship is captioned with “I actually believed that.” It’s telling us, the audience, that while she actually, genuinely believed that these fantasy segments were reality, we, perhaps, should not do the same. These fantasy segments aren’t real.

Mahiru has already proven her capability of being an unreliable narrator in the past, concealing a lot of information within the text of her 16 Day Guide. I don’t want to completely discount these fantasies, but I’m trusting the side by side comparisons it gives us that they are NOT, in any way shape or form, what she portrays them as. I don’t want to take any of it at face value.

Anyways, Day 15 is the end destination of their journey: the arrival at Ryugu Cave. This is the shrine that she mentions. 

As stated earlier, Ryugu Cave contains a shrine. Though the cave isn’t available to tourists, that just increases the chances that Mahiru could get away with imprisoning her captive there without being spotted by the patrols that go through.

For reference, this cave is very deep: 96 m, or approximately 315 ft. It would be pretty hard for him to escape once they’re there, which resounds with her wish: they’ll stay like that until the end of time, and no one will stand in her way.

Day 16 is… a snapping point.

Day 16 is when we see Mahiru prepare her lovely boyfriend a wonderful meal of all his favorites. I think that this is when the 2:13/2:14 fantasy split happens:

While she sees herself giving him cake pleasantly, in reality, she seems to be… force feeding him a rat?? 

I know some people think that the cake is a metaphor for toxicity, and that because he feeds it to her first in the video, it means that the relationship is mutually toxic. From what I’ve seen, this theory completely disregards both the rat aspect and the fantasy filter over the cake scene. I think it’s far more likely that him feeding her cake was Mahiru idealizing the real events. Maybe she ate the rats, too, and she liked to think he’d feed her, too. It’s them eating together; if the cake can be a rat, him feeding it to her can be a similarly significant misperception. 

In any case, given that this is the last day in the guide, I think that this is the end of the line for him. He can’t take being her captive anymore, and sometime when she’s not away, he commits suicide.

I’m not entirely sure how. Obviously, we see him hanging at several points in the video, most prominently at the end:

But we can also see that he appears to be soaked with water at the very beginning.

There are lakes within Ryugu Cave. They’d also likely be cold enough to give him some form of hypothermia, explaining the blue tint to his skin in the second of the two images (he seems to have dried off by the second). Because of this, I’m somewhat inclined to lean towards drowning because it seems like it would have been more accessible to him. In that case, though, I’m not sure how he ends up hanging. I don’t feel like Mahiru would put him there; it feels much more likely to me that she would jump into the lake with him so that they could be together forever or something. 

So, I’m not sure whether he hangs himself or drowns himself, but the gist is, he ends up dead. That’s what Mahiru blames herself for.

VOTE: GUILTY

I know that she’s currently leaning innocent and many people feel strongly about it, but please hear me out here.

In Mahiru’s audio drama, she very clearly does not grasp the gravity of what she did. If she really did kidnap him, bring him to the suicide forest and force feed him rats… that is NOT loving someone “normally,” as she’s so insistent that she did.

Her current perception is that when she loves someone normally, it’s wrong. That’s what she’s said about her guilty verdict. However, if we switch gears and vote her innocent, what will that tell her? 

I think it would tell her that her love is okay–and, to the delusional Mahiru, that means saying that all of what she did is okay. If she believes this is loving someone normally, then I’d rather tell her not to love anyone like this again. It’s going to be hard for her to accept, and I recognize we might lose her between trials, but I think telling her that this is okay is even worse.

I do meta vote, but I do it in the context of trying to secure as many viable innocent votes for the third trial as possible. I think that, if we vote Mahiru innocent, she’ll go back to her fully delusional self. I think guilty is the only way to make the message stick, and the message has to stick if she has a chance at getting an innocent verdict in the end. I really urge you to consider it, because I think that voting her innocent will be a huge mistake on the fanbase’s part (which is the same exact way I felt about the Kotoko vote in Trial 1).

#admin venus #milgram #ミルグラム #mahiru shiina #milgram theory #mahiru milgram #sorry it's sorta late! we were researching REAL hard #this one really messed us up #the fact that it happened in a real location that i can learn actual info about just... it feels less like fiction #listen guys i also really like mahiru #but i for real feel like some of you guys are kidding yourselves too #this wasn't a mutually toxic relationship that was both of their faults. only one of them abducted the other into the suicide forest #please at least consider the guilty vote #if we vote her inno this round then i don't think she has a shot at being releasable back into society at the end #fr yall dont understand how hard we were researching stuff we went full bonkers mode for ~2 hours researching & there was 6 of us -mercury

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 2

Oilpaw is apprenticed to Weedfoot to train as a historian.

[Image ID: Oilpaw and Weedfoot face each other. Underneath Oilpaw, it reads LEVEL UP! OILKIT -> OILPAW, AMBITIOUS -> CHARISMATIC]

Oilpaw. Oilpaw the First. Oilpaw the Greatest of Apprentices. The first apprentice in the history of RippleClan! She bit down a cheer as her small Clan congratulated her in the dim light of early dawn. The late summer heat had yet to devour the camp, making it the perfect time for Downstar to leap on a rock jutting from the shipwreck and announce Oilpaw’s training as a future historian. Hold on, she wasn’t just the first apprentice. She would be the first proper historian! Weedfoot didn’t count, she may have been an AshClan historian, but she joined RippleClan as the deputy. Oilpaw was the true first historian. 

“Oilpaw,” Weedfoot purred, waving her tail in Oilpaw’s face. “Are you finished daydreaming?” Oilpaw shook herself back to reality. There was a lot to do and not many paws to get things done, so the Clan was already leaving to handle their duties. Rustshade, her father, had vanished. Hmph. Fine. If he didn’t want to stay for longer congratulations, he didn’t have to.

“Yes, ma’am!” Oilpaw chirped. “Do we get to tour the territory now?”

“That’s right,” Weedfoot chuckled. “I want to show off the portions of our land that used to belong to AshClan. I can explain why we took so much land from our old home but only a sliver of territory from our other neighbor, WheatClan.”

“Yes!” Oilpaw cheered, bouncing. “Lead the way, ma’am!” Oilpaw and Weedfoot couldn’t get out of camp fast enough.

(Oilpaw: 6, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)

(Weedfoot: 51, female, charismatic, very clever, steady paws)

While on a tour of RippleClan territory, Oilpaw and Weedfoot find something very, very strange.

[Image ID: Oilpaw and Weedfoot face a giant, bipedal frog-man holding a torch. The text under Oilpaw reads + CONDITION: SHOCK]

“There were many more supporters of RippleClan in AshClan before that battle,” Weedfoot sighed as Oilpaw followed her through the steep trees. “Our Clan was brutal. Only two of us survived. Even then, Paleshade… her wounds proved too much for her. She lasted a quarter moon with me as AshClan’s prisoner. If your father, Fennelspot, and Downstar didn’t risk their pelts to get me out, I may have ended up the same.”

“Tell me the names of the other AshClan supporters,” Oilpaw begged. “I want to know everything.”

“Please remember, I’m not teaching you our history to entertain you,” Weedfoot sighed. She paused on top of a mossy, scratched rock. “We aren’t artisans. The stories we tell are true, and we need to respect them.”

“I’m respectful!” Oilpaw groaned. She rested her front paws on the rock. “I promise!”

“Alright,” Weedfoot said. She glanced up, studying the warm-tinted clouds as dawn grew brighter and brighter. Oilpaw settled below her mentor. Fir and spruce trees cast heavy shadows over the pair, as though sensing the weight of the moment. 

“It’s important to remember the phrase as I say it,” Weedfoot said. “It will help you recall information correctly.” She took a deep breath, and said “Here are the fallen Ashes in the Water, the AshClan cats who stood against their Clanmates and asked for a different life; Lavenderleaf, Redcloud, Sprucespring, Wasppaw, Finstrike, Burdockstream... and Paleshade. StarClan knew of their mission and accepted their cause, welcoming the group into StarClan despite how they turned against their Clan.”

“How do we know they got into StarClan?” Oilpaw asked. Weedfoot chuckled and leaned closer.

“Because Fennelspot saw them,” she purred. 

“Woah,” Oilpaw gasped. 

Her eyes drifted past Weedfoot as a glimmer of orange light cut through the trees. Oilpaw thought it was the rising dawn, but the light danced before her. It wasn’t sunlight, but fire. For a brief moment, Oilpaw thought the forest was on fire. But the fire wasn’t on any of the trees. In fact, it moved between the trees like a bird. Weedfoot must have seen the sudden fear in her apprentice’s eyes, for she turned around just as the figure holding the fire aloft on a giant stick emerged.

It had its back to the sunrise and its face covered in shadow. If it was further away, it could have been mistaken for a short, fat human. But this was no human. The bulbous, smooth skin of a giant frog towered over Weedfoot and Oilpaw. It was as tall as three cats. Its torch shined into its huge white eyes as it held it overhead. The firelight shone onto the cats.

“Weedfoot, what is that?” Oilpaw hissed. She crouched behind the rosetted deputy with every hair on her pelt standing on end and her back arched as high as it could go. 

Weedfoot took a defensive stance in front of Oilpaw and growled at the monstrous frog. The frog stared at the duo unblinkingly. Its smooth chin slowly grew and grew like a bubble on the surface of the sea. Its chin stretched and bulged farther than Oilpaw could have thought possible. Then, it croaked. The sound was as loud as thunder. Birds squawked and scattered overhead. Oilpaw yowled, her paws stuck. 

Then, as carefully as it appeared, the giant frog slowly marched back into the tree line. Its slimy webbed feet were gentle and made no sound. For a while, all Oilpaw and Weedfoot could see of the massive beast was its torch glistening in the trees. Eventually, even that vanished.

“...I think I want to go home now,” Oilpaw gulped.

“Me too,” Weedfoot whispered.

(Oilpaw: 6, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)

(Weedfoot: 51, female, charismatic, very clever, steady paws)

(I know it’s weird to interrupt cool lore with weird frog man, blame the generator and the Halloween event - Em)

#rippleclan #rippleclan clangen #clangen #warrior cats #warrior cats clangen #warriors #weedfoot #oilpaw #rippleclan story